Here’s another very short flash that is, once again, a Brighton piece.  One of the things I love about my town is the way the people I see remind me that this is home.


Walking down North Street with anxiety skipping round my ankles.  So I watch my hesitant feet – ready for a stumble.  Nothing seems more likely than a bloody nose on the kerb of things forgotten or misunderstood.

Her toe butts at the edge of the silver barrier.  Small foot in Fuck-Off Boot.  I lift my head.  Her hair is slicked hard to the right.  She twists the coiled wire running to her ear – like someone who knows.  Looks into my face and smiles.  Sure of me.  I run my eyes down.  Black letters across the yellow hi-vis of her solid body.  I am safer already.


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