Return of the Native.

Back through the baptismal font which is Leeds on a Friday evening. The pigs feasting on unreal truffles in the barren woods. A trial to get any positive response from people so deep in their trough. As I got back to the flat around 11, the bus at 9 didn't appear at the airport so I shared a taxi to Leeds Station with Victoria heading to York. Walking direct to Lovell Park, blinkers on, keeping out of the path of the brutish hordes swelling the greasy pavements where eyes glimmer malevolent. It's six am, I am back in West Yorkshire. It's time to prepare my face for the faces I meet.