The Ghosts of London Crystal Hollis
I am the bleeding heart in the yard, the flying monk in the rafters of his church, and the landlord in the pub, rocking back and forth and back and forth forever. I am the man who jumps off the bridge every thirty-first of December, and the boat below that fades, floating further and fainter and further and fainter till it's gone. I am the woman in The George, the dog looking for its tail, and the goose who calls every month, without fail, every month, they all come, every month, to the gates. I am the black dog of Newgate, the arguing wives in the churchyard, 88
