Monday, 6 October 2008

Cubes in the sky

It was a small, but resonant regret. He wished that he had gone to live in the tower block near the broad curve of the river. It would have been better, at that stage of his life, not to have been so earthbound. Waking every day to the damp heat from the bakery beneath his flat in the main street, seemed to send him out into the heave of the city half primed. It always felt like he had to escape, hit the road as soon as he could. Just get out. But once on his way, he realized he had cruelly cast himself out. His body always felt frail to the pounding fists of a city that kneaded his insides in the wrong places. Too much, too soon.

He wished he had taken the other flat offered to him. Cubes in the sky. From floor 14, he could have started and ended each day gazing out into an enormous sky, the slow grey mirror of the working river and the dragging snake of traffic and trains heading to and from the city. It would have given him a better perspective on life, instead of looking up from his breakfast table to dusty windows that saw no sky, sighing crawling traffic and the sporadic leaves of a Rowan bricked in by the kerb.