A peppery scent floats and comes to tickle my nostrils. It persists. This morning, it was so hot that I sweated like a pig. Now, I’m cold.
A girl devours a vanilla ice cream while running. The lump falls on the pavement. She cries. My ears are on fire.
I still have half an hour to wait before going to Herne to report. I’m thirsty. It’s not a need, it’s more a hobby. I’m so bored that booze speeds up the movement of the hands on the clock face. I’m in front of a restaurant just off Central Parade, behind Waltrop Gardens, watching a young woman in a tight scarlet dress walk along the street.
The old harbour is calm. No waves, no lapping sails, no hollering fishermen, no laughing seagulls screaming to remind me that they are happy. And yet, my insides boil. Palpitations force me to shudder
