Bensham

My damp footfalls are all that can be heard amidst the low moaning winter wind. Orange street-lights prick the darkness. The pavement is amber-speckled and glowing in the earlier fallen rain. A car whispers past, slow in the narrow street. Though it's late January many of the Orthodox have their windows open and their hospital-bright, plainly-furnished, rooms glare out into the night like stark beacons of righteousness. I couldn't feel further away from home. Even the street-lights seem alien. In my neighbourhood they glow white. Yet, I am only living four miles from home. Just across the River Tyne. Yesterday, I walked a different route and wondered at all the families sat behind the curtained windows around the glow of a 40" TV and all the lovers sat cosied up together on countless couches. I felt like the only solitary soul in the world. All those lives being lived. All the love and cuddles. A violent yell broke the hush. "Fuck off man! Yi neva visit ya fuckin kids an yi think am ganni let yi in tonight coz ya tanked-up an fancy a shag. Fuck off yi daft cunt!" A door was slammed and a thin, track-suited, figure stepped back into the street still staring at the door. Broken. Lost. I was instantly unburdened of any sense of envy or solitude. For now, there's nobody to hurt me. Nobody to slam a door in my face. I smiled and walked on. Soon I will be returned to my home. Soon I will be sat alone on my own couch and I will feel free.