Leaving the house

The peaceful, quiet interior of the two-up two-down was shut off with a shudder, as the door closed and the key turned full circle. Gareth was about to set off on his weekly routine: the meander to work. Usually he was in auto-pilot; only waking up once the familiar sight of the office car park came into view. Today, however, was different. His mental faculties were acute: in the distance he could hear the siren of an ambulance, while nearer to home the sound of an aeroplane made him look skyward: his mind was transported to a far-off place; an exotic place where coconuts grew by the beach, where the sound of the lashing waves filled the air with the salty aroma of paradise; somewhere far removed from his daily grind.

The high pitched shrieking sound of a neighbourhood Tom squaring up to its own shadow gave him a fright and brought him back thousands of miles to suburbia. The morning air was cold and damp; an aroma of staleness pervaded the air like the smell of a car wash at the end of a day’s shift. His instinct caused him to scan the street: there were furry moggies vainly attempting to shelter from the drab elements, milk bottles on door steps, curtains opening up to the world. The street was full of life. Why he hadn’t noticed this before was what occupied his mind foremost.

As he sat in his dilapidated tin box on wheels, sometimes referred to as his classic and oftentimes unreliable twentieth-century car, he seemed somewhat mesmerised, as if in a trance. The spluttering and coughing of the engine, reminiscent of the spurious behaviour of a not-so-ill infant brought him back to the moment. Finally the engine came to life, and with the radio playing Spandau Ballet’s ‘Through the Barricades’ – he set off on his expedition. The acerbic after taste of his morning coffee left a dryness in his mouth like that of the Okavango Delta during a hot spell, and caused him to surmise that perhaps it was best to stick to decaf in future; especially if he didn’t want to be alert to the shenanigans of the street …

About Sean

I live in my own thoughts, chat to imaginary friends, and survive primarily on Snickers and Nescafe. I work full-time and study part-time for a BA in English Literature with the OU. Home is the North West of England, and my heroes are those authors that can make miracles out of paper and words…… “The man who does not read has no advantage over the man who cannot read.” – Mark Twain.
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