GHOST LETTER 8

I open my eyes. It is raining. The street is busy and shoppers still rush this way and that. Have I been sleeping? If so, for how long? Has it been just minutes or hours? Is it possible I have slept right through, around the clock or thereabouts?

I glance at my wrist, pointlessly because I no longer have my watch but it is an old, old habit and remembering it now I feel odd.

The woman has gone but I still have the ten pound note she gave me balled in my fist. Standing, I thrust my hands deep into my pockets.

The jeans are too big and my t-shirt is too loose and ragged. I feel shrunken inside them and I sense that it has been more than minutes, that I have been in this dank doorway for too long and I should move on.

I step onto the street and walk calmly amongst the shoppers. Everything is wet out here and my clothes, the t-shirt and my heavy sodden jeans,  cling to my skin. At least until I can get dry they have taken on my shape again and carefully I make my way. Although I don’t know to where, I keep walking.

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5 comments

  1. sagedoyle

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