As I write this, I sit around a third of the way up a hill.

It's not particularly tall, but it's the tallest around me.

My legs burn and my lungs run coarse with exertion. I am suffering, and not only physically.

I used to climb this hill daily, not needing to take a break. I knew my health had declined, but this is a sharp reminder.

But at the same time, it's not all that bad.

A gentle autumn breeze strokes my face. In the distance, crows and seagulls and birds I do not know chirp amongst themselves.

A pigeon flies past me, gracefully diving and swooping over the fence I lean on.

I have recovered. It is time to climb to the top.



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I am at the peak. Despite being an objectively longer and steeper walk, I feel far less discomfort. Perhaps some of my fitness has remained, reactivated during my break.

Two young men sit in my usual resting place, watching their dogs and generally enjoying themselves.

The dogs are very cute.

-

When I said the hill wasn't particularly tall, that wasn't entirely true.

While it is short relative to my local area, my local area is fairly elevated relative to my city.

The dogs come over to greet me, before being beckoned back by their owners.

One is covered in shag, is rather stout, and constantly panting of enthusiasm

The other is far more lean and wiry, following behind his partner in curious silence.

As I was saying: from up here, you can see almost all of the city's landmarks.

While to a tourist these may be of great interest, they mean nothing to me.

My city is not it's churches, it's bridges, it's rivers.

My city is the graffiti on the table I sit at, the caravan park adjacent to me, and the empty nitrous canister under my seat.

Time to get moving.



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The crickets chirp, under a blackcurrant bush. The berries themselves are rotting, rendered inedible by the exhaust fumes absorbed during their growth.

The crickets don't care.



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As I walk by the caravan park, dogs begin to bark at me.

I understand they mean no harm, they simply wish to protect their owners.

I wonder who their owners are?

They could be romani. The city certainly has a fair share of travellers.

But they could also not.

Does it really matter?

It's begun to rain.



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To get home, I must pass through the street of inexplicable affluence.

I live on a council estate. The houses are almost as old as my mother.

The same is true at the top of the hill.

And yet, ringing around the 1/3rd marker of the hill, is the street of inexplicable affluence.

The houses are modernist newbuilds, the tarmac is new, and the cars are shiny.

How did it get here?

I am almost home now. The rain is picking up.