/ Black Cane Diary

visually impaired experiences with a black mobility cane

Powering up Grove Lane, smelling the still-scented whatevers in the front gardens of the big houses, cane striking out ahead of me,

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I’m at a bar in Hackney Wick, waiting in a queue for the toilet. I feel someone come up behind me. It’s a woman with dark hair. Her eyes are shining, crinkled; she might be smiling.

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It’s night. We are walking down Camberwell Church Street. A man in a green camouflage coat stumbles out of the off-license by the bus stop.

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Out the back of Kings Cross there are very few street lights and I can’t see where the restaurant is.

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I’m late. Waiting at the lights, I can see the bus coming down the hill towards me. I don’t cross the road, too dangerous.

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