Aylesbury by Poe
To travel, one says, is to hope. Yet here I must warn the optimistic traveller very strongly against carrying phials of poison or coma-inducing drugs on his person when entering the county town of Aylesbury, for so dismal is the architecture and so depressingly mundane are the monstrous monoliths that have sprung up around the few crumbling vestiges of the old town, that one would be tempted to reach for any available solace to stem the increasing sense of helpless melancholia that sweeps over one on entering this forlorn place.
Indeed, so oppressive are the vacant eye-like windows of the Civic Offices that gaze down desolately upon the weary visitor as the gloom of the evening falls like a suffocating blanket, that one involuntarily shudders and draws one’s collar tight around one’s neck to ward off the ghastly and insufferable spirits that one imagines to be roaming the sunless streets.
|