News Where You Are

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He gave up any pretence of jogging now and walked slowly along the lane, following in the wake of an empty crisp packet blown along the tarmac. Without its example he wasn’t sure he’d have the will to move forward.

His steps were heavy and the elasticated cuffs of his tracksuit made his wrists itch. He looked at the loose flesh on the back of his hand pinched by the bright red polyester and found the contrast grotesque.

Mikey had let him down again. Finally he understood that Mikey would never do it.

The sky had darkened as he walked along and now the first fat drops of rain splattered on the road around him. Phil nodded his head. Rain was all that had been missing.

He heard a car approaching. Its passing force would whip the crisp packet away and he didn’t know what he’d follow then. The driver was making the most of the straight country lane and picking up speed. Phil moved slightly closer to the hedgerow on his left. He knew he cut a pitiful figure — an old rain-soaked man dressed head to toe in Nike. Jimmy bloody Savile.

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