45: Ritzy

The clocktower was striking nine in Windrush Square and I stood outside the Ritzy Picturehouse waiting for P and thinking how genteel Brixton looks while it thrums with all kinds of life. The sun is setting noticeably early now, but the streets were full and moving in the breeze of a warm, late evening.
The Ritzy has Edwardian splendour and is a great little cinema. It also has a newly refurbished bar, making the entrance space into a café that spills out onto the street. P and I met here before the refit to drink tea earlier this year. This time we drank gin and Corona (not at the same time) and ended up crashing a private party upstairs where we sat talking over a soundtrack of swing band music about consciousness and perception, religion and what we wish we’d done with our twenties before now until after midnight. Only 45 days left to do all those things in…

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