5
I walked home cursing the pavement. There was little else to curse. Whenever a car sped by, I cursed it, and I even dared to curse a rustling plastic bag after it scared me half to death.
The walk home is almost entirely downhill, which is particularly satisfying at 1am, when it feels as though the whole world is your own, and each step that you take is an act of claiming it.
I passed McDonalds, where the road begins to level out. I had some momentum, so I took my chances stepping out in front of a silver Micra doing three times the speed limit. The Micra sprang away like a startled antelope, and zipped towards the roundabout.
When cars go around the roundabout, there is a point at which they vanish. From inside the car, no doubt it seems barely a few seconds, but when you are alone on a silent suburban street, it can feel like hours. Not only does the vehicle disappear from view, but all of the sound goes too, as if sucked up into a vacuum. There is a mystery dark spot behind the roundabout.
I walked north, with the warehouses on my right. I cursed the nearest warehouse. I cursed the blacked-out window of the warehouse, through which a few steady beams of light were filtering.
My interest was suddenly aroused.
I cautiously left the roadside and climbed down into the yard, and ran full pelt across it until I clanged against the warehouse wall.
I so enjoyed the clang that I began to beat upon the wall with my fists, again and again, drumming up a tribal swell that echoed far around. The light from the blacked-out window blinked steadily.
I placed my hands against the cold wall. I began to climb, inch by breathless inch, twenty or thirty feet up until I was level with the window. I edged over, and peered through one of the tiny holes in the black cloth. I held on tight. I could not hear a thing.
A man sat on a chair. The floor was shiny, laminated wood. The man bounced a tennis ball at irregular intervals, from the shiny floor to his hand. Another man stood far off, facing away from the window. He may have been wearing sunglasses, but it is possible that those were added later by my imagination.
My hands were cold. I could not hear a thing. I slid clumsily back down the warehouse wall, skipped across the yard, and carried along my way.
