Spring and the Jimson Weed

3

Spring and the jimson weed grows tall through the train tracks. For one euro the bronze living statue will gleefully pretend to hang you or up to three children at once. Five and he'll do it for real. Further along the city itself staggers over, reeking of piss, gently prodding at the edges of something less tangible than a noose with expert pickpocket's fingers. Last requests are sacred. Twenty three executed in twenty eight minutes - no one could fault his form.

I will wring first blood from a stone and then an entire person from a brick. Guns are piled high by the umbrella stand. Some last words. Who is it? My grandfather's final entry in a diary: "The battlefield is strewn with four thousand dead - a lovely sight."  I used to outrun the horror, but these days I just pack it up and take it with me. Last word's on you.