This terraced house belongs to a small block including a derelict boxing club, a warehouse, a shop and several houses. Slated to be demolished a.s.a.p. to make way for a multi-m £ development, and actually, the work has already started on the warehouse, can hear it in the day… 
could lounge on the sofa and watch the buildings being demolished around us… the Poison Club (cider-punks from hell) are a few houses down, in leathers and spikes and soaring dinosaur spines of hair… next door the dodgy squat party (“illegal rave” is what the newspapers say) crew… vans covered in scrawled graffiti pulled up in front and in the seedy side-alley with the sound system, bar, lights, all the accoutrements of a mobile guerilla night club…
loud discordant guitar noise from a punk band practicing further down… tomorrow it will be the scum tekno apocalypse of the hackney crusties, right in our back yard… our eviction must be very very imminent… our corner of C__ H___ Rd, doesn’t slumber exactly… waits apprehensively… forces are gathering… two waves of demolition coming: first the dawn of the living ketamine dead, then the bulldozers… police sirens scream down the road towards Whitechapel… the air tonight is brooding and heavy, like something’s building, something’s brewing… impending madness and destruction…
[i must like this or something. this is my observer-created universe? more, a user-created universe? see how easily everything falls into place? ]
fuck da police!
