fútbol en la medianoche

mostly, it's been incredibly early mornings. he lives just a short drive by lexus from where he's got me based. although not many miles, clearly by "t" it takes me many more minutes.

this was my first late night out there and i was frantic about catching the last (better still, 2nd to last) train. i did. i cannot miss it; it will be 90 million dollars. or something. the equivalent really, since every cent now is ledgered and promised.

until i switched lines, it was empty and quiet. soooooo late and now sharing the destination of my neighbors: big hands, swollen, gnarled and bleached, pruney and sore; forearms scarred from sautee pans, hot fry grease, knives and tatts. men. brown men. bleary-eyed and smelling of cleanser, oil and too much cologne. loud. noisy. chatter. guys who work ridiculously hard, blowing off a bit of steam. i'll get used to it.

my stop. fresh air.
the last fields are nearly finished, the turf laid. goalposts and fences not quite.

handful of guys kicking around a ball. in the dark. extra dark. it's a dawn to dusk kinda thing. all sorts of inflammatory nonsense on the building message board. gates, locks, constables. ack. i was glad those guys were there. it meant i wasn't wandering alone too late at night. i kept thinking another sort of person would have called the cops.

i hope they enjoy the summer nights too. the park and playing fields aren't just for us. ya know?