I wave goodbye to the cat, walk down Wine Alley, through Grasping Close, around the Council Offices and Waitinrows Supermarket, up the exhale-ators beyond Marks and Spendloads and into the Strain station.
I can hear the other punters thoughts:
One day.
One day soon.
One day soon I’m just going to keep walking south.
One day soon I’m just going to keep walking south and see how far I can get before I fall face down in some muddy field somewhere. The grass whispering on my cheek, the sun on my back. The warmth of the ground melting my body into the Earth.
I’ve got my credit card so I can walk onto a ferry at Folkestone. France can’t be that hard. Surely I can get as far as Italy? I’ll need another pair of shoes. And some more batteries for my walkman. And I haven’t got my passport with me.
No, today is another workday.
One day soon though.
