Trask Avenue

I read minds. It is one of my more brilliant talents, but no one here in the square knows that. They notice me, but I’m a passing consideration, almost invisible. Young or old, makes no difference. They see an old man eating chips in the Durham Markets and this fleeting thought comes to them: “Poor sod. Spends his days watching the world pass by. How sad and pathetic.” For that brief instant the young can’t hide their mocking scorn as easily as the older ones mask their pity. A long forgotten man, probably worked the mills, set out to pasture. That’s what they (more…)