​The mist fell, glitter under streetlights. I walked into to frozen morning with Pantera cranked to drown out the locals. Fully wrapped, still the chill broke through. I quickened my pace to get some heat going. 

I get stopped at every crossing by red man lights and white rabbit drivers.
The walk takes me through the outskirts of the city, past repurposed wasteland car parks, new build tenements, jarring modernity, new roads built over old houses. I walk past the old church where my faith faded and think nothing of it. A quarter of a century is a good length of time for wounds to heal.
The wind picks up and I force my face further into the tall collar of my waterproof. The roads around here are treacherous, the drivers offer no indication before pulling across so extra care is necessary. I look around and over my shoulder before jogging to the other side.
As my foot hit the kerb, I looked up and my eyes locked contact with an old man. His eyes lit up and his smile was pleasant, unthreatening. He raised some paper into my eyeline.
The soft focus sky-gazing long-haired white man on the cover was enough to know.
I was almost impressed that he’d be out before 8am, leafleting for Jesus, but I offered the man a condescending smile, shook my head lightly and carried on walking. 

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