The final instalment – The Twisted Times of Bella Basura


 There was nothing else to do ; I braced myself against the blizzard and trudged out. The white-out of the snowstorm glared through me, accusing with cold. I felt ridiculous going out alone so late, nobody else would be out in this weather, and anyway it was sunday, again.I crossed the railway tracks again, freezing metal hidden under rapidly freezing snow.And then I knew where I was heading for.I watched for church spires, ducked through alleyways, almost impassable with wind driven drifts, slipping through archways in the old town narrow cobbled streets, turning confusing concentric circles and spirals, double backs and alleys and concealed back doors, an inscribed spinning mandala of deceit and self-delusion. Wheeling left into the broad spread at the crest of the hill, crowned by St. Vincent’s spire in semi-profile, gleaming big clock face hovering the hour over the arctic air, “Observe the time, my child…”I was blasted off the streets by the icy winter wind and buffeted through the heavy double swing doors, tumbling down the steps into a warm seedy cellar bar, a dive amongst dives, a hotbed of crime and confusion – The Bordello. “Sympathy For the Devil” was bouncing off the walls…more

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