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The Dirty Streets of London

Writer's picture: Reid MontgomeryReid Montgomery

I opened my eyes, waking up to the lighting flashing through the bedroom hole in the wall since the oil dried and dripped out of the curtain. It created a mess. It looks like wax from a candle dried up. I look around my stony barn-like room, while I stand up for a good stretch, I notice the rusty metal bucket in the corner of the room to collect water from the ceiling leakage was dumped and slowly filling as I take a few steps towards my old wooden plank shelf to put on my shaggy t-shirt, grease-stained work pants, clean underwear, and filthy warn-down socks. I walk down the stairs that creak at every step to have my breakfast of kings; eggs, bacon, sausage, beans, and a hashbrown, which was made by my beautiful wife who is currently now feeding the poultry and the pigs, while the bread bakes.

I think to myself, “I love her so much.”


I walked towards the door, which weighed as much as an anvil, laced up my stout work boots and put on my dark brown trench coat and opened the door to begin my walk to work. Every morning is generally the same here in London, not much changes, it continuously rains and the sky hums as the thunder rolls through the dark cloudy sky, husbandmen chatting with yeomen and labourers like me stroll the dirty narrow uneven rocky street as water collects in pools, sometimes the whole street is submerged like a little pond. The sounds of men fighting and arguing swarm the streets. When I step out of my work to make my way home for lunch, almost everyone has lunch at the same time except the families apart of the aristocracy, children from school are jumping and splashing in the puddles underneath the wooden home's upper floors that overhang onto the street while old hags yell at them,

“Quit making stupid noises from underneath my home!”, “Keep it moving!”

While I think to myself, “I wish I could have children.”

As they eat their lunch up top. At this time, my wife is usually at the market selling some of the butter she made today and sometimes I see her and walk home with her from work while her gorgeous face glows in her old-rugged rain hat, a long button-down jacket, an old warn-down dress her grandma made, and old shoes.


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