It's 8 o clock and the sun is starting to set, the temperature dropping slightly as darkness falls. A group of lads loiter around the bottom of the steps and a man dressed as a town crier walks briskly past my car. A couple of kids on skateboards practise jumps and grinds along the curb before skating off and the lights start to flicker on, blue lamps light up the path along the top of the wall and yellow street lights glow along the edge of the pavement. The arches, however are full of dark shadows, no lights in here, a couple sitting on the bench at the back, barely visible.
A ferry glides past behind the wall, heading for the Isle of Wight, its windows brightly lit and full of passengers heading home for the weekend. I wait, watching as the pubs start to fill up and the street starts to empty, the lads wandering off, the town crier taking his group of tourists off on their walk, I wonder if you'll get back early enough to meet me here...
Ever since we passed here that time I've been thinking about these arches. They're dark and full of shadows, walking past I see a man in one dressed all in black, only visible by the glow as he drags on his cigarette.
I think of telling you to meet me here after work, of pulling you into those shadows and sitting you on the bench at the back, my legs straddling yours as I sit myself on your lap to kiss you. I'm wearing all black, black trousers, black hoody, we wouldn't be seen.
