Wandering the Globe

Walking down Broad Street I can feel the shops on either side of me; they’re huddled together, eyeballs screwed tightly and they’re praying to the God of stores, 'please not me, please not me'. But it seems that their prayers are going unanswered because every time I return home another one has disappeared.
Sometimes they get replaced. When this happens you can almost see the street breathe a sigh of relief. The new shop stands big and grand and it shouts, ‘DO NOT WORRY NEWTOWN, I WILL SAVE YOU!’, but it isn't long before its spirit diminishes. The store will notice the decrease in shoppers and the increase of cars that are, “just passing through today sorry”. It is never long before the shops are huddled together and praying once again.
Turning right onto Market Street only worsens the situation; cardboard flaps in the wind against the window of another empty store. A barrage of cigarette butts and crisp packets tumble across the carpet of chewing gum that stretches the length of the road.

“There she is,” Sarah shouts to me. She is leaning against a crumbling brick wall.

We are meeting for the first time in a year and we are going to our usual haunt, ‘Lloyds Café’. I have been excited about this ever since I touched down in the UK a week ago; I am craving a bit of home, some normality after my time on the road.
We continue on to the High Street and I stop dead.
“What’s wrong?” Sarah asks, and she follows my gaze.
The chocolate brown sign of Lloyds Café has gone, the swirling silver writing replaced by a thick black sprawl across a pastel blue background.
“Parkers?” I moan. “What’s Parkers?”
“Oh yeah, new cafe,” said Sarah, shrugging. “ Didn't I mention that in my email?”


“Not bad is it?” asks Sarah as we make our way outside. “The coffee’s good,” she continues as my silence hits her.
“But they don’t do soya.”
“And the burgers are nice,” says Sarah, ignoring my jibe.
“Too greasy, and the fries were so limp.”
Sarah sighs.
I am not usually this fussy but I am annoyed. Lloyds was the only thing left, the only thing worth dragging my feet up this street for, and now it is gone.
Sarah and I exchange a strained goodbye and I watch her go. Our town is changing and she is changing with it, and for the first time in my life, I feel like this is no longer my home.
I trudge back up Broad Street, towards the bridge decorated with peeling white paint and bird droppings, and I follow the trail of cars that are escaping from the town.