Thursday, 4 September 2008


As parallel lines of speed blurred across his face, as the dragging twig rattle and leaf rush of itinerant forest scribbled behind the last gasp from the suck of the late 18.45 express, he watched those dry remnants lose flight and fall into the oil dripped shale. He wondered what it would be like to have no past, to be without a memory, to travel through life without an unstable artillery of baggage and the weight of expectation in the deep sagging pockets of a heart. He waited for the slow train that would take him back into the heaving city and ached for the openness of a wild hinterland where he could look out at life as something untainted and new.