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Riders On The Storm

It is a reflex response, unthinkingly made. He extended his hand, a folded piece of paper held lightly between two fingers proffering it and without a moment’s hesitation I have taken it for my own.

As He walks away I clutch the paper uncertain as to what I should do. I turn it between my fingers nervously. It reminds me of those notes we used to pass back and forth as we sat at adjacent desks in science lessons. Then they were filled with gossip, snide remarks, jokes and other titbits designed to break through Mr Potts’ endless droning about Kelvin’s Law of Ohms and other stuff that was completely irrelevant to my future life, a future life that up until today had progressed quite happily without him.

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