I ran over the A180 bridge whilst scanning the ground under my feet.
A red bike reflector channeled flat earth policies.
A figure in the distance shambled past the chalk mountain, gesturing with jerking movements.
He spits “fuck off” to himself as I pass.
A pre-shift anxiety response? School days fade.
Youth. 18 – 24?
I recall my own early 20’s factory fury.
Thick white headphones. Yellow basketball shirt. Joggers. Visor.
Ewals Cargo Care in reverse.
There was no Bluetooth audio device connected allegedly.
Flashing amber beacons.
I continued onto the Coates of Greatness.
Turned around stared at the ground.
I picked up a discarded ‘New England’ application form and stuffed it in my pocket.
Back over the bridge to Europarc.
An admin worker. Brown hair. Early 30’s walked alongside the grey bloc.
I see the angry youth dragging a boulder of capital out of an Innovation Way hedgerow.
Across the boulevard, a scruffy-haired guy crouched over his BMX rolling up an Article 24 escape route.
A lost seagull moves into ploughed field mist.
I still can’t find answer along Genesis Way.