Recollection.

So I'm now back in Worcester, meaning I'm back to doing what I do best - avoiding uni work. This particular brand of procrastination comes in my usual flavour of scrawled randomness, so I never quite know where I'm going to go. What I do know is that I want to play around with the first person. So, here we go.


It was odd, I thought. I never usually paid much attention to the scenery on my walk home from work. But then, when you finish work in the early hours of the morning after tending possibly the busiest bar in the city for eight hours straight, and when there's nobody around aside from bums, the occasional drunk and maybe a cop or two, and all you can think about is how late you can possibly leave it to set your alarm before getting ready for your day job, there's not really a huge amount to be noticed. That night was different however. For starters, the bar closed early due to a fire in the restaurant below it. It was only a little oil fire, but still. Because of that, our customers found other, less flammable places to drink, so the manager sent a few staff home, myself included. I remember it being cold, which didn't strike me as out of place for the middle of November in Detroit, but it was definitely colder than the few weeks previous. I simply assumed it was finally winter leaving its mark and making sure everyone knew it was there.

No, what struck me as odd was the number of people, or rather, lack thereof out on the streets. It hadn't even gone midnight, but it felt like closing time the streets were so quiet. That's when I noticed the lights. At first I thought that the city council had put the Christmas lights on early, or that they were being tested, but then it clicked; the flashing lights were blue, and there was the faint hum of a crowd - that underlying sensation of energy clinging to the air, hesitant, anticipant, uncertain. The crowd was thick, like a forest fresh in spring. It was hard to see what was going on. I managed to push my way through the crowd a little. I stopped to avoid being swatted in the face by a cyclist's rucksack. I could've swore I heard someone shouting my name in the crowd, "Jack. Jack!" I heard. I kept pushing.

There's a reason why I remember that day so well, that walk home from work. Let me put you in my shoes. Would you remember the day you walked through a crowd to see your own bullet-ridden body being tended by paramedics, surrounded by a pool of your own blood and a pulsating crowd of gasping onlookers?

Yeah, I thought you would.


So there we go. I did start this last night, but our internet conked out in the house, so now I'm finishing and posting it.

Adios for now,
Craiggy.