Your choices are half chance

I saw a suitcase today, one of those little hand luggage type things.
It was white, with black writing and red hearts all over it – I ❤ Ny, I ❤ to travel…..

It was sitting in the middle of the path with its pull along handle pointing to the sky.

I live in a village. On the south coast. And I think i’m lucky; I’m surrounded by farms and villages, a short car ride takes me into town and an hour on the train and I’m in London.

And I love it here. But today I saw a suitcase.

It had no owner. And I wondered.

I was on my way to Sainsburys of all places, the road was quiet, the village was quiet, and the unattended suitcase was grossly out of place.

And I realised in that instant, that all the press, the media, the news coverage since Paris — it was mona-bazooka-1253659-1280x960residing in my unconscious mind.

In that moment I wondered if it was a bomb. For a split second I wondered if terrorism had come to my little village — my little haven.

And I was afraid.

Fear. I was afraid because the media told me I should be.

And I hate that.

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