We half-ran through the bustling streets, hand in hand. The soft, south-westerly wind carried the pungent smells of cooking meat and bubbling sauces into our faces, reminding us that it’s time to eat, and we are spoilt for choice.
Neon lights flash around us, the pounding heartbeat of the vibrant city. There are people everywhere, and we laugh as our shoulders clash with those of passing strangers, despite our best efforts to avoid them. Everyone is in a rush to be somewhere.
Noise surrounds us. Car horns, bicycle bells, the constant chatter of native tongues, interspersed with languages from around the world.
We are young, we are free, and the world is our oyster.
Then, I wake up to the surreal reality I am currently living in.
My email inbox is full, and the content is all pretty much the same.
‘I am sorry but we are closing our doors…’
‘I am sorry, but the shop is shut, but we are doing our best to keep up with deliveries.’
The easterly wind is blowing so hard, it is blasting icy-cold air through the cat flap, which serves as a vent to funnel the Siberian chill through the house. I lock it – anything to keep the wind of change at bay.