an old road

He slings the handles of the duffel bag over his shoulder and slips on his headphones. The sky hangs low but it’s dry and mild. There’s no breeze, for a change. He pulls his hat down low and turns the volume up a little. The ripples lap the harbour walls but he doesn’t hear them. The handles tug on his shoulder and he shifts the weight a touch. Within the bag sit a costume, a shaving kit, some other bits and pieces he might need along the way.

He looks out towards the sea and pulls out the earbuds. The odd gull hovers ahead. The boats sit quiet. The tide’s receding and the lobstermen are nowhere to be seen. He hears the lapping now, and a gull squawk or two.

He’s been here before. He turns up the road he’s walked so many times. He hugs the duffel with one arm. It’s uphill now, and steep. He puts the headphones back in and chooses a song, something with energy.

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