Hiss of samosas hitting the frying pan.
Crackle from chips being wrapped.
Vibrating boom from the record stall.
This is our ends.
The air alive with spices and smoke and handshakes and happy how’s-your-mothers.
Chuckles and street cackles bounce around the market. The paved streets lined with locals with rich stories. Faces familiar and friendly. Undeterred.
Crowds gather around Jackie fruit and veg as she retells that story we love to hear, just one more time Jackie.
This is our town. Radio John snoozing on his stall, Viv’s leopard’s prints and Ahmed’s fish. They’ll be around forever.
No matter how many tall gawky coffee shops with spindly metal chairs sitting outside and fingers clattering on silver white laptops.
This will always be our town.
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed my short story/ poem (I’m definitely not a poet!). This piece came about when I went on a writing trip with The Writing Squad where we explored gentrification on London through photography and writing.
Let me know your thoughts in the comments below! Thank you all so much for staying with me and reading my stories!
Some more photos from the writing trip #NotAPhotographer
Read more of my short stories here
I am also starting book reviews! Let me know your recommendations in the comments below!