Beneath her feet, the city gossips, tarmac tongues whispering the hymn of her returning. Every sodden yard of hard-mooned kerbstone unfurls to her insoles, black locale knows the girl & her swell cobalt mind so well: the hackneyed princess of slagheaps and monolithic mole-hills of one-mil syringes. Doom-town stare of a million methadone-dawns. – Miggy…