clinging to the wreckage

A distant crack, a roll of thunder, a flash, the clouds tear open and unleash what seems not like rain but rather solid streams of water. The clothes, the rain coat, do nothing to protect the body from becoming instantly soaked and so we run down the street smiling and laughing. A flip flop floats away in a new formed stream in the street and a chase is required to regain this gifted relic. Arriving home it is essential to remove all clothing and the rest, as they say, is history. A Saturday morning run in the Boston heat… an attempt to wash away the sins of Miami. Trying to regain the somewhat healthy routine that was starting to develop before the trip. It follows a flight, a thunderstorm, a tin can trap on melting tar mac as the sun sinks behind heavy grey cloud and a flashing sky. The airline senses the financial loss and prefers to risk the flight – a pilot can dodge lightning it seems, or so they hope – and so we bump and shake into the afternoon sky and climb the east coast of

Six years ago the will to live was lost. Life in England was becoming something of an empty routine. I was driving great distances to and from work and the job itself had become meaningless. I spent my evenings and weekends sitting around in the house drinking copious amounts of beer and wine whilst reading books and watching films. I’d awake with a hangover and to try to cure that I’d make massive breakfasts consisting of highly fattening foods. Once the afternoon rolled around again I’d be back on the beer and eating crisps. Nothing seemed to matter to me. I had lost all the love I’d found, I had completed my bachelor’s degree and couldn’t afford to do my Master’s because I was still paying off the debt that my failed marriage had left me with. I was not earning a massive amount of money so paying rent, maintaining a car, living in an expensive part of the world (the south western tip of Greater London) I was struggling to make it through the month.