Cold wind, send my jacket up high. As I attempt to hold it down, my eyes look up. I'm a hundred miles from home, surrounded by strangers: I'm surrounded by smells and colours and poetry I have never read before. My low cut boots are scratched on the sides, and my eyes are watching in the icy draft. I look like I'm crying, I look sad, I feel the happiest I've ever been. I can see the pity, I can see the glances of passer-bys as I look around, happy to be breathing in the air. I flick my head around, my past is fading into the fog of the night and my future is lit by the glowing signs. Each street I pass, the enriching smell of coffee and old rain hits me, like a bullet struck from the side. I find comfort in my senses. I find comfort in being lost in a world so desperate to find home.
