H o r s e s

On Saturday mornings she’d stop in to the junk shop at the foot of Restalrig Road. Awkward, ambling, finding the record bin, she’d slide her hungry hands between the album covers. Head bowed and keeping to the beat, a sudden flash of black and white jolts her from her reverie. Her cantering heart breaks into a gallop. The gaze of resistance stares her down.

She snaps her headphones off to take a closer look, flipping the album over in her small hand and eyeing the song list. The black and white photograph: a square, a figure, and a tangled mane. The top right hand corner of the album cover she reads - H o r s e s.

It is written.