Driving from Royal Arsenal, Woolwich, through Greenwich and Brockley, towards Wimbledon.
On my right, towards the direction of The Thames, my eyes feast on a rare treat….an old fashioned BALLROOM! Doors, spread open widely, reveal the tempting interior…Flooded and bathed in warm, buttery light, the excess of which is flowing out and congealing on the spotted, chilly pavement.
Resembling spot-lit, brightly colored jelly babies, glaringly uncomfortable strangers (all oddly dressed–up in velvet, organza, shiny satin, lace, petticoats and tuxedos) are hoping to leave as a couple, in some distant, dismal morning.
Across the street, a macho, mustachoed guy, is dressed to kill, in a kilt. Drawn, like a moth, his haunted, hunters eyes, are riveted on the hypnotic inferno, brimming with promise of lustful relief and release. Nervously and excitedly, he taps a jittery, booted foot (suspended from muscular, shapely legs- perfectly encased in fishnet) on the filthy curb, whilst his solitary silver earring, reflecting the red glare of the traffic light, sways irritably.
He anxiously anticipates the ‘green light’, the ‘go-ahead’ and his desires, longing to be indulged, in this hall of musical and physical delight, prods his hurried-hormone-driven ‘cross-over ‘of The High Street, which is celebrated by an abrupt and spectacular kaleidoscopic cracking open and illumination of the surrounding heavens!
It is Bonfire Night……

(Author: Aleta Michaletos, Copyright reserved  2011)