Chichester, Easter Sunday, 9:15am…. a

Chichester, Easter Sunday, 9:15am….
a souped-up purple Ford Transit van with twin chrome exhausts, tinted glass and orange-flame on purple paint job, bearing the moniker “Vanimal” (I kid you not), roars past the bus stop bearing stickers promoting the “Mayday Monopoly” protests. The cathedral bells toll their beautiful irrelevance out across an otherwise deserted city, as I plod my way down South Street towards the railway station. An alcohol induced buzz whirls around my synapses, accompanied by memories and thoughts of the night before, words which might best have been left unsaid. But then again, who knows?
My head is too full. I need an outlet. And I need more than that. I need contact. Friends are brilliant, but sometimes they are not enough. Sometimes I need that soul, that understanding, that insight. And sometimes the deserted city brings out those feelings in me. It did last night as I walked home from the bar, and it did again this morning as I walked to work.