Night time stroll

The leather soles of his shoes slipped on the wet cobbles as William strode across the boulevard. He casually glanced up at the statue of Winston Churchill leaning casually on a stonewall, cut into each individual stone was the name of a World War Two serviceman from the village. He looked up to see Winnie’s bronze smile, his lips curled to accommodate a large cigar and his right hand raised, proudly displaying the V for victory. William carried on past the memorial, his eyes scanning left and right, lovers on a park bench, faces pressed together as the rain streamed down of their soaking hair and down their backs. A tramp stamped through puddles, head bowed, his scruffy dog following him loyally, a drunk looking young man stumbled onto a park bench in a cheap suit and dropped his head into his hands, as William walked past the man smelt of tequila and he thought he heard muffled sobs.

William continued his walk, he rounded a corner and saw four lads tumbling out a bar, an angry bouncer followed them screaming threats laced with profanity. The lads just laughed, screamed and gestured back and scampered off.

William liked to see the city streets at night, particularly in rain, no tourists, less people. Cars roared past, their wheels sending waves of water crashing onto the pavement, soaking the occasional pedestrians. Most of them were like the young lads he had seen earlier. Out for a good time, but not allot happened on Tuesday nights and most of them were running towards kebab vans, their soaking shirts clinging to their bodies. Scantily clad girls faired no better, particularly the poor girl who had word a white, figure hugging dress that had got so soaked it left nothing to the imagination.

William continued to take his series of random left and right turns, more dictated by how busy the streets were than whether they took him the right way. He cut through a dark alley lined with dumpsters. Half way along was a door with a weak light about it, scattered around were thousands of cigarette butts. Restaurant he figured, judging by the size of the rat that dashed across his path and disappeared under a dumpster.

He emerged on a poorly lit street, half the street lights weren’t working and under those that did group girls, pulling their jackets tightly around them, not doing them up so they wouldn’t miss the chance to expose their revealing outfits to the occasional car that slowly crawled along the wrong side of the road. He decided to go right. He considered crossing to avoid the large red lit sign advertising a strip club. Passing under the glowing red banner he looked past the man holding out a flyer that promised a free lap dance with fifty dollars worth of drinks and to the neon sign of a girl in a short skirt bending over.

“No, Thank you.” He declined politely and kept walking.

A car pulled up in front of him and a girl in red lace stockings, black stilettos and a black trench coat stepped. As the car sped away she let her coat fall open to reveal a corset and skirt, both were ruffled and revealed a more than the girl wanted as she set about fixing her outfit. Ignoring William and he paced by.

He hailed a cab, somewhat grateful to get out the rain and asked to be taken to his hotel. He asked the taxi driver if he was having a busy night.

“Not really” came the response, silence reigned inside the taxi until the drivers phone rang and he began a conversation in a language William did not recognize.

On arrival to the hotel he paid the driver and walked through the lobby, a porter sat behind a desk and greeted him before turning back to his computer screen. Opposite the porter was a quiet bar largely occupied by couples sitting close on sofas sharing bottles of wine and business men, upright and alert as they shared their single malt nightcaps and a joke about the days work.

The empty lift spirited him to the eleventh floor and William made his way to his room. Once inside the door he pulled of his shoes and tipped them upside down, fat drops of water clung to the laces. He threw off his soaked jacket, shirt and tie and hung them on a hanger to leave for the cleaners as he made his way to the bathroom pulling of his trousers.

A scalding hot shower returned the life to his chilled body, he stood under the torent off water, not doing not thinking anything. Water streamed down his back and dripped of his hair. After many minutes he summed up the courage to turn of the flow of hot water and towel himself off. He was half dry when he slid into bed, eager for the crisp cotton sheets and luxurious down duvet. He picked up a book for the bedside table and gave the title page a cursory glance. As he flipped to the page he wanted.

‘Big book of Cliches’

He settled on the chapter entitled Towns and Cities and began a long list of check marks from the young overs and the prostitute to the tramps dog and war heroes statue.