One little life inside a box,
Everyone thinks their pet is the best dog/cat/goat in the entire world, and that’s because they are. They are a beacon of love and innocence in the tumultuous landscape of life. Many people claim that they didn’t rescue their pet; their pet rescued them. Neither of those are true of my sweet dog, Mister Richmond.
Whenever I’m asked where I’m from I say ‘Oxford’. It’s a lie, really. I was born in Milton Keynes, and spent the rest of my life escaping the place. (For context, the most interesting thing about Milton Keynes is that it has 130 roundabouts — “and that number is growing tall the time” according to the MK tourism site.) The happiest of my childhood was spent in Oxford, but to this day, it has never managed to feel like home.
I’m dancing my way into my fourth decade on this earth in the light of the moon, with sandy feet and the heat of mild sunburn across my cheeks.
A friend told me a story of a blossoming relationship, forged while under stay-at-home order during the pandemic. While the chaos crashed from shore to shore leaving devastation in its wake, two people found the solace and elation they needed right next door.
No, it doesn’t feature any REM.