Portobello Sunset

A tale of two cities.  

This morning Portobello down towards The Gate; Churros, Felafel, scones, cupcakes, antique arcades, brash tatt, egyptian stone carvings, Roman coins, diamante sunglasses, vintage, preloved  (at a price), David Bowie and The Stones, Hugh Grant's travel book shop full of generic London souvenirs, not a book in sight, Electric Cinema; 25 bucks a show.  Bunting and Buddhas, Tibettan bowls and and teapots, a plucky girl dressed as a chimney sweep singing Cockney pub songs and a willowy boy playing Vivaldi staples on his violin.  The Salvation army assures us that 'god welcomes allsorts' 

Shepherd's Bush. Little tents outside the Tube; #islamantiextremism; The religion of Abraham, Moses and Jesus.  Pound crazy shops, kebabs, threading salons, braiding, nail bars, Afro hair, wigs and Greg's.  I want to find a pub in which to have my first London pint in a decade, but find Belushis which 'lives to throw epic parties'. 

And between the two, the sad, shrouded Grenfell Tower topped with a green heart.