Rustica
A darkly comic encounter in the heart of Manchester, where friendship, food and coffee are interrupted by the brutal realities of urban wildlife.
I’m standing at the hatch of Rustica,
awaiting my award-winning
spicy meatball sandwich.
Me and the ladies go way back when.
It’s a grey and humid summer’s day.
We chatter,
a little banter,
I say goodbye
and I’m on my way.
I bump into Tomlin,
the famous Gallery DJ,
and we’re talking about
broken / relationships
when he utters in dismay,
“God. Look at that!”
I spin around,
there’s a white herring gull –
jacked,
and those black eyes
could not care less
as it plucks a pigeon
mercilessly
at its feet.
The third time
I’ve witnessed this week
in view of afternoon drinkers
on Hilton Street.
It stirs in us
mixed feelings.
I place my sandwich
in my rucksack,
and we head to Eastern Bloc
for coffee.
No one seems
to bat an eyelid.
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