Precipitation
5: 05.06.2024
Over three short days, he had grown to love Manchester - there was a vibrancy here which was unpretentious and easy. Nothing or no one seemed to need to try too hard to be anything. He had spent the afternoon walking through bright sunshine and sudden showers and his feet were aching and wet. Taking back streets where he could he was slowly making his way back to the hotel through puerile vandalism and incredible street art, from foetid pools of unidentifiable liquid, to niche boutique stores. He came across a woman standing in the middle of one of these alleyways. She was blocking his way looking at what, at first sight, appeared to be her phone, but as he got closer turned out to be a small black notebook. Her lips were moving, not in audible language but certainly she was speaking, perhaps to herself. In her mirrored sunglasses he caught a reflection of himself approaching. And yet, it wasn’t him, but himself, perhaps, twenty years younger. With a surprise matching the afternoon's patches of precipitation, he found himself submerged in a sudden downpour of melancholy.