"Mark, it is Mark isn't it?", he turns around to see where the question came from. He is met with the warm, smiling face of an attractive petite young woman, and she seems to know who he is judging by the look of delighted recognition on her face. Triggered by his momentary blank look she continues " It's Anne." she pauses as if to let it sink in, "from school?". He starts to relax his shoulders and gives an involuntary "God, it's been a while!" as the synapses fire into action and drag the name from the vaults of his brain. Now the name is familiar to him, but the image of the little schoolgirl he has associated with it bears scant relation to the grown woman standing before him now. His feeling of embarrassment at not recalling his old friend sooner is compounded by the fact that this meeting had to take place within the confines of the chemist whilst waiting for medications. Usually the domain where remaining anonymous as you collect your pile cream or whatever is always preferred.
Looking at her now properly for the first time, he can appreciate just how she has blossomed into a beautiful woman. She subconsciously plays with the end of her chestnut hair, twirling it round and round her slender fingers. Her smile is devastatingly warm and inviting, and the expression in her narrow eyes make it hard for him not to just throw his arms around her and give her a big hug. Nervously they both try and speak at the same time, their words tumbling over each others making it hard to understand the other. "You first" he says to her giggling, "I was just going to say that it's got to be at least 15 years, hasn't it!?" she starts. "Pretty much what I was going to say" he responds. "You haven't changed a bit you know?" she tells him. He refrains from telling her that she on the other hand has. Growing into herself as a woman, now possessing the sexual radiance that comes with maturity. "Is that a good or a bad thing?" he jokingly responds, "It's a good thing." she laughs. Their reunion is abruptly brought to a halt by the dispenser calling her name from behind the counter. She makes to collect the medicines and picking up on the address she gives to confirm her identity, he questions how long she has lived there. It transpires that in the intervening 15 years or so the two had only ever lived a few miles apart and yet had never crossed paths until now. "That's really strange don't you think!?" she asks with genuine surprise. "I suppose so" he says, not really listening fully to the question, mind distracted with thoughts of years gone by.
"Well, I had best get back home, Nosey Arse will be missing me no doubt" she says with resignation. "Oh, your husband?", "Nooo, am divorced, I'm talking about my daughter!" she says, almost sounding happy that this is the case. "Right then, maybe catch you again in another 15!" he jokingly says, but inside he knows he would like it to be sooner. Giggling to herself she turns and heads for the door, "Who knows where we will both be by then!" she calls over her shoulder as she is leaving. "Who knows indeed" he comments to himself under his breath. Taking a recently vacated seat, he sits, fond memories triggered in his head, and waits patiently for his next batch of little round friends that have so far allowed him these joyous little moments in life.

Squinting against the harsh glare of the suns radiance, he scans the property rental section of the local paper. His pen only leaving the corner of his mouth where its rested thoughtfully, to circle prospective accommodation. With a gentle clatter, he drops the pen onto the aluminium table top. He takes a sip from the rapidly cooling mug of coffee, too bitter. Despite the coffee shops popularity they still manage to stew their tea and scorch the coffee. Still, with such a sunny day it's outdoor seating within the centre of town offers a unique vantage point to people watch. Paper now folded in half on the table with pen resting almost parallel to it he surveys the other patrons. A middle aged couple sit to his right, dressed in almost matching knitted sweaters. Despite the fact that it is a gloriously bright day, the winter chill is starting to be felt in the air, and their position next to the buildings shoreline means they are enveloped by the clammy shadows. A crossword is passed between the two of them, although neither seem to actually speak, only the odd flash of recognition passes their faces as one realises the other has come up with the answer that had so far eluded them.
Towards the entrance to the coffee house is a lone young woman with a pushchair parked beside her seat. She bends down to ferry small continental biscuits from her saucer to the mouth of a small child sat in the pushchair. Her hand is cupped under the one holding the biscuit as it moves, presumably to stop the prior tea dunked snack from fragmenting and hitting the paved floor.
Out of nowhere a searing flash of light catches his eye temporarily blinding him. Scanning the direction from where it came his gaze rests on a stunning, slim woman. Her oversized platinum bracelet is catching the suns rays. As she lifts her arm to her mouth to wipe its corner delicately with a serviette, the flat portions of the jewellery cast dancing shards much like a disco glitter ball.
Transfixed by her adornment, it takes a moment to realise that she is looking straight at him. As his eyes catch hers momentarily she breaks into a smile and then looks back to her magazine. Feeling a flutter throughout his body he pays closer attention to her. She can't be any older than 30 and has black, obsidian like straight hair that just flicks slightly as it rests on her slender shoulder blades. He closes his eyes and captured in a freeze-frame like still is the imprint of that fleeting moment of eyes locking. Like a flare gun being fired and its aura being left on the retina, he thinks to himself to make the most of the image before its faded completely.
Opening his eyes again he can see why this was the case, she has the most incredibly deep brown eyes, large and inviting, they appear to darken to almost black as she follows the wording in the magazine. When they shimmer darker its almost like some astral powerhouse, a black hole dragging all matter inside and making it obsolete.
As she looks up toward him again, this time its his turn to smile. She picks up on this and swiftly turns away, a smudge of redness creeps over her pale cheeks.
Any embarrassment is soon superseded by the almighty cracking and rumbling noise that engulfs the area. Violent waves of sonic thumping and crashing accompany similar waves of physical force shaking the ground all around them. Cutlery and crockery is sent tumbling off table tops, chairs are scattered as people get to their feet, some of whom soon find the act of standing difficult under the conditions generated by the grinding under foot.
Wisps of dust and small chunks of masonry descend from the nearby buildings as they are rattled from their foundations upwards. In the distance the screeching of tyres can be heard, this mixes with a rising cacophony of urban sounds, the harsh shrill of car and security alarms and the shouting and screaming of the public along with shattering glass.
Almost as suddenly as it arrived, the tectonic disruption dissipates leaving the area shell shocked. Still seated where he was before he looks around the devastated area. People are starting to gather themselves and take on board just what had hit them. Buildings remain mostly intact save for minor cosmetic and glazing damage. No one seems hurt apart from the odd tumble and fall. Most of the drinkers that were sat outside have now moved on or are dusting themselves down and collecting scattered belongings. Incredibly, his table is still stood on its unsteady tripod like legs. He has a little chuckle to himself as he gathers up his pen and newspaper, as they too are still resting where he left them.
As he picks up the paper his chuckle becomes a full blown laugh and the image of the young womans gaze flashes back into his mind. He thinks to himself that anyone around would think him slightly unsound to be laughing in these conditions. But then they wouldn't have been able to see, in a shaky scrawl at the top of the newspaper, a mobile phone number, and a womans name.

They're falling again. It’s inevitable after all. Condensation forms on the frigid pane as my gaze is drawn to yet another leaf as it chaotically traces its path towards its final resting place. Nose pressed against the window, accustomed now to the frosty feeling at its tip, I wonder just how many I have watched perform this ritual in the preceding years. A click and leaden thump from the boiler in the next room is the only sound, the seasonal smell of central heating accompanies the shroud of warmth that is slowly enveloping the house for the first time this year. I turn and perch the edge of my bottom on the sill, back pushing against the damp window for purchase. I don't notice the fact that my back is now both cold and damp as the condensation seeps into my shirt, as I'm too preoccupied by the sight of the living room radiator. As its warmth flows freely into the room I can't help but close my eyes, allow the corner of my mouth to turn slightly into a smile, and start to cry.
My one pet hate. So inconsequential now. Your attempts to placate me by saying that putting your warmed up coat on directly from the radiator was like going outside with a big hug from me was endearing to start with, but living in a cold room as a result did start to wear thin. I never did let you know just how much that annoyed me, that and your insistence that I should also put mine on there so that I would feel the reverse from you.
I peel myself from the window and decide to venture to the park to clear my thoughts.
Sitting on the old bench, slats digging into my thighs I notice two young children under one of the large oak trees. A girl and a boy, the girl seems insistent on getting the boy to join in her game. Despite her attempts to persuade him to follow her, he is steadfastly refusing, instead leaning nonchalantly against the thick bark of the trees trunk tossing flecks of bread onto the grass for the birds. She eventually gives up and goes back to her game which seems to basically consist of kicking as many leaves into the air as possible from the piles littering the area under the tree. Not for the first time that day do I find myself fascinated by the random nature of the leaves and the myriad ways in which they tumble and fall.
A voice next to me on the bench breaks my concentration. I turn to see a young woman sat next to me who must have arrived whilst I was preoccupied. I always seek out public seating where no one else is around, I never see the need to engage in meaningless conversation when I am never in the mood.
I ask her to repeat what it was she said, as my brain wasn't expecting conversation and was detuned. "Did you ever do that as a child?" she inquires, head turned toward the little girl and her autumnal playthings. As a result all I can see is her profile of rich chestnut hair but no facial features. "You know, I'm sure I probably did, but can't remember doing so" I reply. I feel like I should be adding something along the lines of how kids these days are forgetting the simple enjoyment in life, but I keep it to myself. A sudden gust of wind takes it upon itself to end the little girls game and it scatters the piles away from her feet leaving her standing bemused and alone. Pulling the neck of my jacket up over my mouth to combat the sudden dip in temperature I make comment of how cold its turning. Thinking she may not have heard me through the muffled effect of my coat covered mouth, I turn to see why there was no response. I turn to see the young woman rising from her seat and make to walk away. Still with her face away from me I can see her pull her arms in tight across her front. "Actually, I'm lovely and warm thanks." she says with satisfaction, and with that she continues on her way.
By this point the street lamps are starting to flicker into life and their faint orange tinge is permeating the park, and I too start for home. By the time I arrive at the front door darkness had arrived just as quickly as it left at dawn, my inability to sleep allowing me the faint luxury of seeing both. Stepping into the house it is remarkable how the temperature drops after dark. I shudder slightly as I take off my coat, as if someone was walking over my grave as the old saying goes. I take a moment to adjust the thermostat on the boiler and then enter the living room to relax for the evening. I find myself subconsciously placing my hand on the living room radiator waiting for the increased temperature to flood the system. I rest my head against the wall above it, face down looking into the vents from above. Warm air wafting over my chilly face, I start to feel a little more alive. Looking down I realise that I still have my coat in my hand. Once again I start to smile and a tear creeps from the corner of my eye. It doesn't get the chance to leave my face as it, and the others that follow are dried by the warmness emanating from below. I take my coat, drape it carefully across the radiator, and walk away.