/ Black Cane Diary

stories of sight loss and of experience

The train waits, hissing. East Croydon. This is East Croydon.

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a fantasy

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We'll meet by the church on the corner of Goose Green, we said.

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People avoid me when they see the cane. They cross the road as I approach, flatten themselves against railings, hide behind trees.

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In the queue for a bar in a town I barely know, and this one looks like a mean bastard.

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On one hand, years ago, before I used a cane, I was walking down Kingsway towards the river.

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In this series, five friends imagine themselves in my shoes and write an entry for the diary.

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In the kitchen someone switches off the lights and sets the music front and centre, full and pumping. I lean against the cabinets near the sink and watch the dancers.

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Night, traffic lights, I’m waiting to cross, a man appears next to me, says you all right crossing the road there mate,

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I’m walking fast towards the Minories, on my way to work. I pass the dark construction hoardings and scrubby park across the road from the Tower and slow as I approach the traffic lights.

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