Present and Past. By CpSingleton © 2015
Sprawled across the tarred batter of mud and rain, the heavy droplets causing vision to blur in and out of focus like the lens of an old analogue camera, he thought about his time.
He didn’t give much contemplation to the spear-sharp rocks prodding his spine and neck, they were, in a way, keeping his blood flowing.
He attempted to trawl back and recall his first memory…
He passed faded images of short-trousers and pissing in a potty. He flitted around memories of his own giddy wonder in the little, rusted play-park just around the corner from the back-to-back they used to live in.
He continued on past the Clock School and the yeasty, nose-curling odour of the local brewery and flew all the way back to a memory that by common standards he just shouldn’t have:
He could smell the lung-tickling, heavy…
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