At the small station, a gull struts the platform, lordly over crisp packets. The tannoy clears its throat, then thinks better of it. I watch a person fold a newspaper with care, as if tucking weather back into its coat.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
At the small station, a gull struts the platform, lordly over crisp packets. The tannoy clears its throat, then thinks better of it. I watch a person fold a newspaper with care, as if tucking weather back into its coat.