GHOST LETTER 37

Chris R-2-3 Image by Christine Renney

Everything is so much smaller now and each day familiar, echoing the last. On the road the repetition was harsh and ceaseless. I wasn’t able to retire in the evenings and sleep in a bed and, come morning, begin afresh. I still can’t but somehow I have managed to establish a routine of sorts.
When the shops are open I walk the streets and I select a spot and I settle down. A particular doorway at a particular time. The abandoned spaces in front of the boarded windows and the ’TO LET’ signs. But not too far out – it has to be in a part of the city where people come, where they congregate. Pubs, clubs and restaurants or better still office blocks, places of employment and of course shops.
There are others here, vying for space, for a little change, but they aren’t resentful or in any way proprietorial. We are like fishermen on a bank and the busy thoroughfare is our river. They don’t ignore or avoid me but they do leave me alone and occasionally I will nod at one of these men because, for this, I am grateful.

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2 thoughts on “GHOST LETTER 37

  1. chrisnelson61 January 20, 2018 / 3:01 pm

    This series continues in its strength, Mark, and, as ever, your words create vivid imagery. Interesting, I think, how every group within (or inder without) society seeks to create its own sense of order; its own set of rules.

    • markrenney2 January 22, 2018 / 9:23 am

      I agree Chris. And thank you so much.

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