You always hear some clown ask "is the glass half empty or half full?" when in fact the question is mute as long as the glass contains coffee. I continually find that what I am seeing is a completely different perspective to those around me.
I go home to where I was raised and all I see is a small town trying to take me back down to the times when I've been stuck in a morgue identifying those I love.
I don't take in the contented people around me going about their lives and enjoying the good clean air around them or the laid back attitude that taints every day with a certain brilliance unknown in the wanna-be big bad city in which I live.
I spent a quiet Sunday afternoon on the empty streets trying to ignore all the memories that crowd around me; I see my brother running in the parks and playing on the sports fields, my father trying on a suit in the middle of the main street and my mother always just on the outer edge of my vision.
Tough luck but it seems the Bay is too small a place for me and my memories... This doesn't mean it's a bad place, just bad for me.
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