journal contributionposted on 13.12.2017, 02:06 by Antonia Pont
When Ron walked, he lurched. He knew this, and some things can’t be helped. Very probably it was the combination of long legs and a shortish torso—a combination of teenage misalignment on a number of levels and general physical reticence. The explanations, he felt, were neither interesting nor rigorous.
Lonsdale Street at ten to six was hurling a whole lot of dust around and he needed to get from Russell to his apartment, which was near the corner of Spring. You'd never think there were residential places there, but you'd be wrong. They were tucked in behind the salmon-hued public service building, some with small slivers of view out onto the green belt that hugged the eastern edge of the government district. Studio apartments and some one-bedrooms: they'd been just affordable ten years earlier, when Ron had bought.