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.