The Pearl Fisher

Deciding to use the following day to work we went in search of a quiet bar to discuss things further and eventually ended up in a small restaurant. As we had not booked we settled, rather happily, for a table in the window. Seated side by side we found ourselves facing what appeared to be Whitstable’s main off-licence. A theatrical event unfolded before us. Groups of young men and women formed and reformed as plans were made, some danced, others sang. We wondered if the house opposite was some sort of opium den, until a woman emerged adjusting her nurse’s uniform and we adjusted our thoughts. A man rode his motorised sleigh up to the off-licence and got out leaving his dog seated in the foot well. A woman in a bright azure shift dress and high heels attracted the attention of the craning young men. On the top floor of the tenement a girl was leaning out of her attic window smoking. After a while a large man with pink hair walked past somehow, I’m still not sure why, he seemed out of place. On the way back it rained the light but persistent rain of summer. My companion and I were soaked by the time we reached the comfort of our bed.