Bristol is a weird city. Never have I known such proud people as I know the Bristolians. Even after 7 months I havent made a connection but as time goes on I realise Im isolating myself from a community by refusing accept the fact that I have settled.
Every day is different. If im not walking around a man attaching a colostomy bag to his stomach at 6am I’m running after a bus screaming to stop as a boy is trapped in the doors. Its like a constant trip, sights are so outrageously unusual that its become normal. Have I become urbanised?
Out of the dark window I saw trees raving in the wind and grubby centipedes with doors, carrying people to their required destination. As I walked home I felt like there was no resistance against me, the process felt like a liquid would. The fingertips of the early incoming gales were flicking my loose hair around my face, the rain was splattering lightly onto my face with such politeness that I welcomed it like an old friend. The city was grubby with sadness and lost souls despite the hope the community try to bring, but with the purge of the rain the streets were reset and the smell of woodsmoke and ancient water spiralled around me. It looked like a city but felt like a forest. Gulls were manically calling and flitting, probably apprehensive for the front which had hit the land and was coming our way, the occasional lone male glided down the centre of a street reminding me of trawler ships breaking through the silent frozen seas. The lack of people in the streets made everything more real and the music in my ears made it even more so. Evening stragglers idled past me whilst I frowned at the sky, trying to think of ways to make things better, to make life better.
With a new job drawing closer things feel a little more comfortable and safe.