I don't remember exactly when, but after a few years when David left us, I found myself in Brixton and visited one of the local charity shops. At the same time, I found out that his father had worked there a long time ago. Interesting. 

I continued my investigation and turned onto a quiet street. It was already evening and the refreshing autumn air ruffled my hair. I was approaching a place that obviously had not yet become a place of pilgrimage, but the mystery still attracted and beckoned me. There is not a soul on the street.  

I approached the house number 40. Somewhere on the second and third floors, a light sparkled. Yes, it is the same house. David Bowie will have many more addresses in his life, but the first will always be the first. 

I tried to voice some song from the artist's repertoire in my head to add the appropriate sentimental aura. The god of rock n roll grew up here. I will remember this moment all my life. I wanted to take a picture, but no one was there. Just around the corner, a figure appeared that was approaching.  

"Excuse me, could you please take a picture of me?" I turned to the stranger.  

"Please, in the background of this house." The stranger nodded and took the phone from my hand.

I walked closer to the fence and suddenly the sensor lights near the front door of the magical house turned on. When the stranger approached to return me the phone, the door opened and an elderly man looked out into the yard.  

- Get out of here, - he shouted as the owner or just a tenant. The stranger disappeared first, and I followed him.  

"No, it seems that this place is already a place of pilgrimage." I thought and headed to Brixton station.