Welcome my friend, I hope you are doing well. Take a walk with me, through the corridors of my different hand-painted, segmented front covers. I describe the concepts of the many ideas I have etched onto once-blank canvases as we pass through. Hopefully, I get to know you better on this journey.
I say to you, "Here it is mate."
I grab your arm as we walk into this front cover, sparking my story to life.
A frosty morning has begun during the middle of the winter months. Christmas is approaching; people are becoming busier getting presents for their loved ones, spending the money they have saved all year, to spend in this city's shops. George, a young man in his twenties, styled short dusty blonde hair, light green eyes, wearing a pair of black trainers with the white three stripes on the sides, dark blue jeans covering his bottom half, and a black coat keeping the cold air out. He cycles to spend his day at his job as a chef in a chain restaurant that’s on the outskirts of the town centre, beside the river Cam.
We can see George breathing due to you know the weather being cold. He has both earphones in listening to music, playing from a biking playlist he made on his phone. He is peddling his dark blue bike, wearing a black with red trim backpack, a red tick in the middle, he turns down a back street. On his left, there are people's homes; in the middle of the row is a silver saloon car pulling into a dentist's clinic. Biking a bit further on his left is an overgrown stream, a smashed television being stopped by some reeds, from floating any further down the stream, someone must had dumped it in there the evening before. You know the ones I mean, you have to take the living room window out to get the fucker in your home. A Moorhen swims around the bulky plastic tele with its young in pursuit. Besides the flowing stream is a fenced-off private lake, I think you will most probably need a permit to fish on it.
*Beep!* "Vehicle Reversing!" *Beep!*
The warning is coming from a dustbin lorry at the bottom of the road. Two men have jumped out from the cab; they are wearing hi-visible vests, over their Cambridge Council uniforms, both men are wearing thick brown gloves. George pulls in a vacant parking space between two parked cars while the dustbin lorry reverses past, as the Councilmen start collecting the blue bins that are street-side for them to empty. A smartly dressed young lady is leaving her home beside George, who smiles at her; she smiles back at him as he bikes off to carry on with his journey to work.
George has stopped at some traffic lights. He goes to press the button as a black car drives past, followed closely by a blue car; he notices out of the corner of his eye, a young boy around seven years old, holding his mother's hand, he is going to do the same as him. So George lets the young boy press the button; looking towards the young mother, they are both wrapped up warm for the cold day ahead, their breathing is visible; she has ahold of a grey pram that is transporting a flat-screen television with empty packaging, which had been flattened and folded, I would be surprised if it weren't her man that got rid of their old television in the stream, she is most probably going to dump that somewhere along her journey, I bet pretty close from where George has just cycled through. The traffic starts to slow as the light changes to red, and the green man appears. George carries on biking past the young mother, smiling at the young lad, cycling towards a bus stop that has four different cultured people waiting for their way of transportation; beside them is a pub, but it's a bit early for people to be having a good time in there.
George bikes past onto Mill Road if you live here you know it's busy, a road that never sleeps if you have tried to cycle down there during the day, I personally try to avoid this road at all costs, but if my bike breaks, then it's the number 2 bus that travels down that route into the centre of town, but be warned it can take an hour to get there on the bus sometimes. Still, I'd much rather bike a different route; I can be most places in 15ish minutes, anyway I let my thoughts run away from me. George cycles off a curb onto the side of the road while remaining vigilant of what is happening around him; his head bopping to the music, he turns down a side road, we can see a postman on the other side of the road, walking up the pathway to someone’s home to deliver their letters.
George cycling down the path on Parker's Piece from Mill road to the hotel at the end. He cycles between a few pedestrians, past an overflowing bin; even though it's getting colder, people will still go out to get pissed at the clubs also pubs, especially women, dressed in next to nothing while it's minus one out; I'm not complaining I'm just letting you know what I have seen. He slows down to let another cyclist pass across him on another path, cycling towards Grafton or maybe Midsummer. George cycles towards the hotel, passing another overflowing bin with rubbish. Some of the shit you see on the streets when cycling is mad; some things would make you chuckle, and others would make you wonder.
George, still cycling through the town centre, a quiet start to the day. Still, I am sure the historical streets will become busy when the afternoon following into the evening hits, considering it is Friday, most people's payday, especially when the students come to life. We see a homeless couple is still sleeping in a tattered green sleeping bag under the entrance of a nightclub. That's not the only homeless people in this city, up and down this once great country. George carries on cycling past rows of shops, where multi-cultured people are walking past or going in, and a few coffee cafes have people drinking or eating snacks. A bus drives past towards traffic lights that have just gone green, there are people waiting at the upcoming bus stop.
Lee with gelled combed black hair, some stubble around his mush. He is wearing a a grubby khaki jacket, black fingerless gloves and a dark blue scarf is wrapped around his neck. Clutching ahold of some Big Issues magazines in a plastic wallet, living in the hope that he sells them all today.
"Big Issue, anyone!?" A skinny geezer is loudly expressing as he points, "You, sir, would you like one!?"
Offering a passing balding guy wearing glasses and a dark green coat, he refuses to purchase the offered Big Issue, and he carries on with his day. Lee stands outside a massive chain supermarket, I can't say the full name, but let's call it S_burys; you can fill in the blank. George stops at S_burys, gets off, placing his bike beside a black metal bike rail that has seen better days; the black paint has chipped away over time, leaving patches, a couple of bikes locked to the railings; it even contains a locked bike frame missing its wheels along with the seat. Over the shoulder of George, an occupied taxi drives past filled by a couple of cyclists.
George tells the Big Issue seller, "Keep an eye on that, Lee."
"Will do, mate."
George puts his thumb up while walking in to get an energy drink in the hopes he gets wings during the busy service, along with a pack of smokes.
George has payed for all of his stuff and is now standing outside the shop. He passes a can of energy drink to Lee.
Lee says, “Thank you mate, I appreciate it.”
George responds asking, “No problem, have you sold any today?”
Lee cracks open his newly acquired energy drink, responding, “Two or three, nothing major, yesterday I sold all ten, so hoping for another day like that.”
George while doing the action, responds, “Fingers crossed for you mate, anyway off I go to work.”
Lee says, “Take care of yourself.”
George responds, “And you bud.”
He walks off to collect his bike, his work place is only down the road now. Over George’s shoulder we can see Lee taking a gulp or two of his drink.
George is locking his bike up with a black D-lock; he twists to take his key from the lock, that is now locked through the back wheel to the pole. Looking down the street, a single decker bus is being held up by a few cyclist. George noticing someone had brought in his restaurant's bins. He puts his keys in his jeans pocket, with his rucksack on, with his uniform in.
He walks to the front of his restaurant, which is called David2Marseille (It’s not called that in real life, it’s called Wildwo_ds.) George has also worked next door in Café Red. (Now it is called something else, it’s a steak house.) Beside Café Red is a brassiere called Côte. David2Marseille is empty from customers because it doesn't open for another two hours, apart from the kitchen porter behind the bar making a coffee or two. The other two restaurants, on the other hand, have customers in them because they make breakfasts along with open earlier at 9 where, George's opens at 12, but he starts at 10, but at Café Red, you would start at 8 until 10-11 at night, fucking long shifts to be on your feet for. Saturdays are horrible shifts in both restaurants, and I'm sure they are also in Côte.
Shaun Waller
