The sun is out and the streets are filled with girls in leggings, texting.
At the first house I went to, the garden gate fell off in my hand, at the second, the weight of the opened gate pulled its post from its mounting and, at the third, the flap of the letter-box fell off and landed in the cat’s drinking water.
A military veteran in a blazer and a drunk in a matted fleece were at the bus stop. They both had the same style long grey beard and moustache. At the next bus stop down, a young man in a hooded top was pretending to fight with the metal post that displays the timetable.
An old VW Golf came clanking noisily around the corner. The rear seats were folded down and the load space packed with rubble and bits of old pallet, the weight of which had lowered the car’s suspension considerably. The car pulled over and a young couple got out. He, handed her his on-backwards snapback and she held on to it as he slid himself underneath the car to locate the noise.
I was emptying a post box next to a woman with a striped tracksuit top and a bag-for-life who was discussing the price of travel with a large man in a mac, “It’s free to Howarth on the bus and I enjoy the journey; it’s £20 to Blackburn on the train!” I slammed the door of the box shut and a man in a white Transit van came around the corner and shouted at us all to “Get out my bloody way! Go on!” even though we weren’t in it.
I walked through two spider’s webs today.