For people who find solace in books, poetry and essays, Word Carver by Cynthia Rosi, writer for life.
by Cynthia Rosi
Springtime in London. Harringay, to be exact, in the Green Lanes side of the borough. I stood in front of a flat, plywood door with a cheap handle, holding a notebook filled with chicken-scratch shorthand.
The man was short, with close-shaved hair, stocky build and a barrel chest, a black leather jacket and jeans. The close-shaved head was shorthand for the ultra-right wing National Front at that time in Britain.
We worked for peanuts at my first newspaper. My wage barely covered my single bedroom rented in an old lady’s house, my petrol, and my…