Strapped around my waist, my bag is packed with my water bottle, sun hat, house keys, and my music filled mobile phone. I’m adorned in my shorts and T-shirt, striding along Brushy Creek walking trail in Croydon. DANCIN’ DICK, an Irish jig, is headphoning into my ears, a metronome for my legs as they power me along to the fast tempo of the banjos and drums.
Category: My bag is packed
The train wheels scrape, screeching in discord on the tracks. My left leg jiggles. There’s a clenched feeling in my guts. A man started over as if to sit next to me but saw me biting the scrap of skin next to my fingernail and moved further down the carriage. The lady opposite keeps flicking her eyes at me from the pages of her book. She’s wearing about eight layers of clothing and it’s not that cold. I don’t look as half as crazy as you do lady, I think to myself.