I wake up. It’s grey,
early. A dim light is coming through the
curtains, around the sides. My eyes are
heavy and I close them. Listen to the
sound of traffic. The distant hiss and
roar of a jet plane passing overhead.
The white noise of the city. There
are no birds.
When I open my eyes again, it must be half an hour
later. The bedroom is lighter than
before, and I can hear the children in the flat next door preparing for
school. I am glad I no longer have to go
to school. I hear a motorbike starting
up. The water pipes in the ceiling.
The floor is cold when I finally swing my legs out of bed
and plant my feet. The bruise on my big
toe still hurts when I flex it. And the
floor needs sweeping. The city where I
live is full of dirt, full of noise – full of people. But I like it.
The city has colour, thrills, money, buildings, and roads
leading everywhere.
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