It was a lovely Wednesday morning, a gentle, almost caressing breeze blew past me as I tentatively opened the front door, bathing myself in glorious sunlight, heating me somewhat uncomfortably, though this may be because of my tendency to wear jackets, even in good weather such as this.
Fortunately for myself and others of my nature, the wind was forgiving and acted as the ying to the sun’s yang, and was left comfortably warm as I began to stride down the gentlying sloping hill towards the highstreet, my trainers gripping the warm pavement, the cigarette in my mouth sparking to life as I take a long drag and hold it in, before letting the troublesome smoke drift out of my mouth and onto the aforementioned warm breeze.
Finally reaching the bottom of the hill, I found myself striding under the bridge as a train hurried towards whatever destination it was speeding to, the roaring of the cars driving past me deafened as it ran along the tracks. The sun greeted me once more as I passed under the bridge, leaving the train’s nigh-on deafening sounds behind and reintroducing me to the more tolerable, relatively speaking, sounds of the cars’ purring.
By the time I had passed the local chinese restaurant, only another 30 meters away from the bridge, my inattentiveness to my cigarette left my lips a little singed and I mentally cursed as I opened my lips and let the butt of the cigarette fall to the pavement, stamping on it and snuffing its flame out in retribution. This was followed by me pulling out my cigarette tin, and to nobody’s surprise, gently pinched one and put it between my lips. Stowing the tin in my left pocket once more, I stop, pull out my zippo lighter and instinctively flick the flint, sparking the wick and cigarette into life. There was no doubt anoter singing would occur in about 5 or 10 minutes.
I flicked the top of the zippo back into place, showing the now complete image of a raven, sitting atop a fragmentation grenade, the pin pulled and held in the raven’s beak. The image brings back memories, both of me first purchasing it, the many interpretations of the image, and how it related to my less-than pleasant past. Nonetheless, it fell into my left pocket, recollections of the past gone and back in the present moment, taking a drag, exhaling, and moving on.
Around the corner was where I was bound, to see what was happening at the market that day. Lo and behold the myriad of market stalls and vendors, trying to catch the attention of passers-by, like an angler to a fish and ultimately making their day’s goods into a profit.
Needless to say, with my comfortable demeanor and interest in the market itself, it should come as no surprise that I was drawn towards the majority of the market stalls, though at the same time I knew not to pull my wallet out unless what I was being shown was something I truly desired.
Even as the vendors continued to barter and sell their goods, that familiar breeze and sunlight comforted me. I felt a little odd being one, if not the only person wearing a jacket though, and after a few visits to the stalls, I ultimately surrendered to the idea of tying the jacket around my waist, the grey falling almost to the back of my knees.
With just a short-sleeved t-shirt on, I could feel the gentle gusts and sunlight upon my bare arms, and relished in it, before turning my attention back to the market, immersing myself as the traders continued to persuade me with fictional bargains and trying their utmost to sell me something, if anything.