Dolphins wanting tofu sunshine baps.

I always said I'd walk to my morning workshop slots once I moved, as it's so close, just a short journey through town or even a cut-through behind the station if I feel up to the hill, it would really be rude to drive. The word I always seem to say in therapy sessions, usually in reference to myself and my earnest pursuits - 'silly'. Still, this is one of maybe three times I've actually followed through, and set off in time to walk semi-leisurely. I'm proud of my progress. It's a complete coincidence that my car is in the garage until next Tuesday. 

Photo by Faizan Ali.

My neighbour greets me as I come out, I say out of habit, 'hey friend - lovely sunny day' and I'm told 'we're going swimming'. I make an excited noise that teeters between a squeal and a growl, and wish them well. I wonder who else is making the trip today. Everyone's been talking about the dolphins. They politely visited the colourful cafe on the seafront that allegedly makes £10k daily in summer months. They must have heard about the fried tofu sunshine baps. I'll go for a swim later, with my dear friend who also loves a New Yorker panini. 

A lot of lives are waking up as I walk through this ragged bit of town. It's very old, but entirely new to me. I skirt around the unlucky pub whose reputation precedes it in a destructive way, and I wonder what form it'll take when the next batch of hopefuls move into the flat above and eagerly pour their money through the floorboards. I walk past a silver-haired boiler suit sitting on a stoop with a cigarette, head tilted up towards the sun, eyes closed, absorbing. They open their eyes at just the right time to wave hello to an acquaintance passing by, a middle-aged maroon-haired bag for life who stops to rearrange themselves so I overtake, inhaling a whiff of my grandma as I do. I see bins being taken out, windows cracked, signs turned around on doors, and I think of the rare days when I visit my London office early in the morning; I take my usual route from Charing Cross and reluctantly through Leicester Square at the only time it's safe to do so, then along Lisle Street into Chinatown when the rubbish buggies are whizzing by and the restaurant key-holders are emptying buckets on that one wide walkway. I like to see days begin. I wonder what will be. 

Thanks for reading,

G. x