She tries to concentrate on the road, realising that she’s gone several miles, through the town and out the other side, without even realising, driving on autopilot. The music has moved on as well, Jamie Woon now and she wonders whether it’s a coincidence that the lyrics seem to fit so well or whether she would read something into any song that played. She feels again the tightness in her chest and the restlessness that caused her to run, well drive, again and reaches over to switch off the stereo. Now the only sound in the car is the low growl of the engine and the roar of the tyres on the tarmac. She lights up a cigarette, opening the window all the way and feeling the wind on her face, hearing it swoop and whistle around her head as she drives through the night, wondering how long it will take before she feels able to go home again. She doesn’t understand why, for her, home is somewhere to run from rather than run to. Perhaps it’s the loneliness, the feeling of being trapped. Few of the windows would open and the sun beamed down on to the coach, turning it into an oven. As it was early afternoon and such a hot day, few people were around. In the carriage that I was in was an old dear who appeared to be chatting quietly to herself, a down-and-out who was snoring quietly on one of the seats, probably having hit the booze (too early and myself).I was sitting at the other end of the coach reading my book. I had finished work early as I had been up since 4am setting up a new system. I was knackered and trying to stay as motionless as possible in order to try and keep some comfort in the intense heat. My head was stuck in a fantasy novel that I was halfway through. A wizard was about to zap the baddies who had harnessed a dragon.We had pulled into a station and the door opened. I looked up to see the figure of a woman outlined against the brightness of the sun. As the door shut I got a better view of who had just entered the train. She had shoulder length black.
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