Uncanny Street and Schulz's Crocodiles

A significant bridge, from the realm of everyday to the future, to freedom, fusing possibility with the present, the meeting point of East and West, Hampstead and Hackney, work and play, the back way, site of secrets and desires, a shortcut instinct street, where the bike blocks the cars going uphill or beats them on the way down, which is also the way out, newly smooth with that fresh black well-marked tarmac and slick circumnavigable speed bumps, road of revelation and reincarnation, self-medication and the demarcation of boundaries, and or also their transgression, vain white van aggression, single-decker bus frustration, hand-me-down pushchair abuse, fast-food affliction, fashion addiction, and whatever dose you decide to take, depending on your direction and the inclination of your injuries and drive. An extraordinary street where the dead gather to clamour their cases, the mad congregate to talk to themselves, doctors, shrinks, artists, dealers, the unemployed, lost youth, and passers by passing by. A lilac purple house near the top. This straight-on only road, the immense weight on this road, the lonely waiting on this road. We have all seen each other and been along there.