Walking the rooftops, I found a hummingbird painted on a chimneystack.
It was a beautiful thing, delicate as rose blossom, bright as rainbows. Drawn so precisely it could be alive, up here where no-one could see it. I came back every day, to prove I hadn’t imagined it.
One day, I found someone else there, sitting on the roof. “Did you make that?” I asked.
“No. I just found it.”
“Who’d do something like that, all the way up here?”
He shrugged. “Someone who wants people to keep exploring. Best way to do that is leave behind some buried treasure.”
Sitting on the top deck of a bus the other day, I saw someone had written ‘the words you remember are the ones you’re surprised to read’ on the roof of a bus shelter on Brixton Road.