New perspective

A clinking sound at my feet brought me out of my reverie.

At first I was puzzled at the coins I saw, and was about to shout to the person walking by who'd clearly dropped them. But then, I noticed something about the way the man walked, a kind of awkwardly fast pace, shoulders hunched, closed in on himself.

It was something I recognised, something I did myself: the walk you do after throwing coins to someone down on their luck.

Did I really look that desperate? I knew it couldn't be my new, still-clean clothes. There must have been something about my expression, maybe. Though, I reflected, the fact I was sitting flat on my arse might have had something to do with it.

But still. I didn't know whether to be devastated, or find it funny. The laugh, when it came, sounded dry and bitter - barely more than a bark. But you had to laugh, or...

You see the world differently when someone's just assumed you're a down-and-out. And, unsurprisingly, not in a good way.

I closed my eyes, rubbing at my eyelids; it felt good, but only made me want to rub my eyelids even more.

I leaned back, my head touching the cool rough surface of the stone.

And then - incredibly - I felt that stone begin to move, gently grinding against the back of my head. But how could that be? I opened my eyes in alarm to discover that the stone hadn't moved at all - it was me.

I was now looking down at the ground where I'd been sitting - floating against the ceiling of the arch under the bridge.



Story begins here.