"I live on the eleventh floor so he can’t get out. When I finish work we come here for a walk, and when it gets dark I put him in his bag. Because, you see, he’s black. I don’t see him at night. Blacky. He’s good, he’s alright. People think it’s cruel to put him in the bag, but look, this is his window and this is his blanket. He’s alright, yeah."

Seen on Primrose Hill, London.

Article on my blog.