Park benches

How quickly things change. I was walking home on Monday evening and as I walked through Branimir park, I had to pause at a bench and take my jacket off.

It was too warm.

I stopped there to take off my jacket and fold it up neatly and shove it as well as I could into my bag. I saw that there was a hole in my bag, from shoving too many things in it. I must get that fixed. I wonder if the shoe repair man will do it?

The next day – Tuesday, if you can’t keep up – I passed the same park bench, only this time I had to pause to do up my raincoat, pull up the hood, and shiver, and wish I’d worn a few more layers. And as I looked at that park bench I thought about how warm it had been, just 24 hours before.

I guess I seem like someone who thinks too much about change, or park benches, or clothes. I dunno. But it really did strike me – how can I walk past the same park bench, in a short space of time, with totally different experiences?

And it makes me think, in a melancholy way, of all the other things I might experience one day in that same spot. A phonecall with bad news, the loss of a loved one, the beginning of the winter chill, stubbing my toe. I mean, you just don’t fucking know, do you?

Fucking park benches. Burn em all.

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Nat Newman

Nat Newman is an award-winning writer of short stories, content, podcasts, feature articles, drunk text messages and, soon, a novella.


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