Home

Today, I go to see London again. I see London every Sunday if I feel productive during my week. It’s my way of cheering and treating myself with the crowd. River Thames is a murky mess again but the buildings are clear. I head toward the Anchor. This time, after getting my Peroni, I sit in a different corner, dimmer and darker. This time, I also make sure to light my JPS after drinking up the second pint. It helps my imagination travel beyond myself and into the present. I no longer think about home in yesterday and home in tomorrow. I only float in between.

I start playing my little game. I perk up my ears and study people; the movements of their lips, their gesticulations, when humming, chatting, laughing hysterically. I take more sips, trying to make out a sensible utterance.

‘You have no idea what he did, it was horrendous’ She says.

I mull over 'horrendous'. It derails me from my little game. I only need to take notes of what my characters say. This time, it is horrendous. I am taking it to myself. I am reminded of home again. I shouldn’t. I go for a third pint. I am drowning again.