DEPOSITS

One face two trains – she is fast asleep, chin on chest, in the nook of a crowded commuter carriage – a thought comes to him: Do I know you? Something familiar about her, yet if he rationalized he knew it could not be possible. He recalled two girlfriends from long ago and wondered why he had not been happy with either. Later, he deposited a cheque in an ATM machine in a bank in West London and one of the women behind the counter rubbed her chin against her shoulder in a similar gesture to the sleeping woman. Again he stopped and noted it. It was something about the action, not the person, which resonated.

Andy hawking in the bathroom every morning – it is so loud you can hear it throughout the house - I wonder what he is trying to bring up – some rock chipped off his soul? A bitter seed? A block of ice? Whatever it may be it takes a huge physical effort – it’s a miracle his lungs don’t burst. Sometimes I think I might find him expired on the floor or else discover a strange bloody deposit in the wash bowl and learn that he has been rushed to hospital.

Wolves on a terrace in Hammersmith – prowling in large cages among placards and information booths – and those eyes, bright and golden, watching every move, the head low to the ground – nearby a video plays with images of vast tracts of snow covered ground and a pack of these creatures make their way across hunting territory accompanied by a voice-over describing their habits and the potential of extinction in certain parts of the world – a child is held close to one of the cages by her father as a few spots of rain fall on the terrace, she is scared and clings on to him looking at the cage over her shoulder and then burrowing her face back into the man’s neck – one of the keepers comes over having seen this and suggests something to them and the little girl nods her head through tears – having deposited a small lump of meat into the cage from her hand, the girl strokes the thick mane of the wolf and laughs.