Downstream

easily accessible small sandy
beaches. One lies just by the
National Theatre, on the
Queen’s Walk, where the air
smells of cooking burgers and
people stroll in the sunshine
dodging low-flying pigeons.
A locked gate blocks the
steps to the beach, but the
sand is pitted with recent boot
marks. I can hear the waves at
the shore, the tide has washed
up seaweed and beer cans, the
water is a uniform brown.