You would think a new year means a new start. A new Manchester. As I pull up my hood of my favourite winter coat, I tread through the grey mucky streets.
Men, women and children wander the town, wrapped up in layers and layers of clothes. Their faces; blank and expressionless except for the slight smile at a not very funny joke.
As I stop walking I sense rather than notice the atmosphere of expectancy. We are all waiting. The air is heavily damp with the dank stench of fresh acidic rain and decomposing litter. I stand on the edge of the curb.
I turn my head right just as a double decker bus whizzes past me, spraying my face with muddy puddle water. The stop at which I stand at is full of all kinds of people; sophisticated business women in suits, chunky builders in blue overalls, teenage girls in super short school skirts and even the most elderly of couples.
And as the last person jumps off the bus we all begin forming a sloppy line to get on. I flash my ticket at the driver and find a seat. A faint scent of a spicy perfume hangs in the air and all I can hear is the chatter of people and passing traffic followed by the soft pitter patter of rain.
I look outside the grimy window taking in the bright lights of evening Manchester. As I settle into my seat, I say a silent good-bye to the town I grew up in, one of my many homes.
Until next time.
Written in Year 8/9 (2010-2011)