Nine Below Zero.

And there I am playing blues at the bus station at 3:42 am. Just like in Oxford, the greatest person I feel solidarity to is the window cleaner who has arrived to straighten up the bus stop. The man who has lived. The man whose parting words are, ‘don’t worry my friend, you keep playing the blues like that, and you’ll recover from your broken heart, quickly’. A man who tells me of his former work as a security guard, who tells me, as always, that it is the manners of a person that make them. If you can’t say please and thank you, you’re a chauvinist and you ain’t worth nothing. The whole evening of trawling around god knows where was worth it to speak to a man who knows the truth, even if it is only the truth of a moment. I’d do it all again, and sing ‘nine below zero’ till my heart broke if it meant I crossed another window cleaner like that.