I saw the little lad shivering away with a sorrowful mug, waiting for his owner to come out to get him. His coat was covering in the flakey snow, coming down in droves, after a day of bare sun. He peered into my eyes, asking for reassurance. I had nothing to offer except the two beers I had in my hands and my sympathy. Man’s best friend is indeed too diligent in his duties.
I hurried on by, asking thinking about the cold beers I’d unnecesaarily bought. Why would I drink them? Why not? Fundamentally I queried why I was in this town. It is my nouveau-Okayama, my new-Seoul or Exeter, towns I felt bored and isolated in it, away from where I should be. Okayama was Japan, a magical and novel experience. Seoul was about money and I had Christine to pass the time with. Exeter is somewhere I will be drawn back to. I have to and need to.
But Plock (for that’s it’s name) was an escape from Exeter, a wish to run and have some fun. It has opened doors and there is much to explore. Berlin last weekend was immensely gratifying. In two weeks, my old mate Tom arrives in Krakow for a weekend of culture and excess and the summer streams out like an unfurled, psychedelic carpet of colour, variety and deliricity.
The money isn’t good here. I am paid relatively well with an apartment, transport and accessories thrown in for free. But the lack of spare cash, limits my ambition and that feeling in my belly can never be quashed. I need to be patience, a flaw I try to work on but find welling up in me like envy or frustration.
I have little to complain about. I value what I have learnt and who’ve I’ve met. And I choose my path, let it suck me in and project me into the cultural etha. With the offer of a job in London when I get back from a friend (‘just walk in and I’ll sort out no problems, were his words) and upcoming study time, I am proud of what is to come. I need to patient and let it lap up to me. God, it’s gonna be immense.