Friday, 10 August 2012


I met Gary on a lovely day. The sun shone, birds twittered and midges bit. 

But Gary just looked down in the dumps. 

'What's up, mate?' I asked. 

Gary said nothing, his shoulders slumped in defeat, his eyes clouded, unseeing. 

A lifetime of excess, abuse both physical and mental had taken a visual toll that was unmistakable. Dirty, disheveled and unloved, that was Gary. And in truth, it was hard to love him in this state. Get a grip, clean up your act, DO something with your life forchristsake, I wanted to scream at him. 

But I didn't. I did nothing but shrug helplessly and walk away.  I doubt he'll ever fly again.

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