James

It’s weird how adaptable the human brain is. How capable of accepting new levels of what is ‘ordinary’. Despite knowing that I am now completely alone, I settle into a kind of routine.

Read… Run… Carry…

East Portside Road… El Valderado Bar…

I have my second wind, breathing easily. Even my leg isn’t giving me the trouble I thought it might. My muscles thoroughly warmed through now, I jog along, heading for my next destination.

Read… Run… Carry…

Parkmoor Bridge over West Marine Rise…

Pacing myself, pacing my breathing to match my easy trot, I survey dark windows…

Where are they?

… Parked cars… Alleyways… Cafes and kiosks…

Then passing through shadier areas; roof lights, warehouse windows, disused garages…

I skid to a halt.

Ahead of me, blocking my route…

Under the glare of a streetlamp, a group of youngsters, swilling back beer, yelling, pushing and shoving…

Look again…

No, not kids.

Young men.

Crap…

they

cross the

That would flag up as

all nonchalance. That’s

Fucking limp…

notices me. Elbowing the next, he jerks his chin

the tallest, leather-jacketed and wearing baggy jeans slung low at the belt, steps forward

Are they Finchby's?

?

No…

on the lookout for an

What do they see?

Old man…

Limping…

Disabled?

Interesting looking bag…

“Evening,” he says.

“Good evening.”

out for a stroll. Chilly night. Could get a nasty cold on your chest.” He

“Nothing of yours.”

the bag. “Coming back from the gym? Sports kit, eh? Looks

me past.” I make to step forward, through the group, but they close ranks ahead

holds up a knife, the neon orange of the streetlamp glinting on the edge. “I used to have a bag like that. Let’s see if I think this is it. Could be lost

group who, right

Moron…

“Yeah… lost.”

be a finder’s

rocks his hand, the blade held up by his own face, displayed. “Like the movie says. This

not in

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