Scenes: Number Seventeen

There are large, flat, stone benches without backs periodically placed along Morecambe prom.

Today, there was a man sat on one of them, leaning back, using his arms to support himself. The sun's brightness bounced off the arms of his glasses. His hair was all grey, apart from cloud-white wings perched above his ears. His hair, his wrinkles, his woollen jumper and slacks all said he was seventy plus.

His lips were curled up a little at one side. You might think the word 'smirk', but there was much more warmth radiating from him than that.

Watching the distant waves and smiling - just how is he so at peace with the world?

Scenes: Edinburgh

 

Scenes: Number Eleven

It's a quiet, cold night, the colour of streetlights on grey pavements. Every now and again, to your left, a taxi whips round the one-way system taking another load of bank holiday drinkers into town. Apart from that, the only non-concrete thing is the wind, and that only blows half-heartedly every now and again.

The chips you have in your hands are too hot to eat comfortably, but eating them quickly is helping to keep you warm. The wind rises a little, and you hear gears in the clock tower behind you stirring.

Then, from your right, a guy in a beanie hat with headphones on rides by on his bike. Over the soft whir of his machine, he says to you, loud without shouting, "Peace, brother."

You don't know him.

Seconds later he has turned towards town. You are alone again, yourself the only visible evidence of life on this planet.

Scenes: Number 66

Roaring rivers, raging torrents, inexorable floods of angry raging power. Swarming hordes of vengeful mobs. Dusty plains full of stampeding cattle. Avalanches, rock slides and hillsides of rolling boiling lava.

Nothing compared to the Lancaster Uni Refreshers' Big Night Out. Dat some scary shit, yo.