Saint David's Day
He woke before the light had chosen a side. At 5:20 the room felt whole but he did not. The old tide stirred — not loud, not catastrophic — just that familiar inward pull that said alter this. He named it. He did not obey it. He opened the window. Cold entered without ceremony. Beans reheated. Rice finished. Coffee poured. Nothing mystical occurred. He observed that nothing was missing and did not trust it fully, but he stayed. At 7:15 he left the flat. North Street accepted him without applause. Sunday debris. Cleansing crews. Vinyl apologies for inconvenience. He moved south into Um and did not belong to it, nor reject it. He walked. Workhouse posts stood where discipline once ruled. Beggar’s Hill rose. He climbed it. The cemetery widened his vision. Elland Road sat below like a secular altar. The city did not instruct him; it merely existed. The flick of a switch occurred without sound. Cross Flatts opened. “Stronger Together” written in municipal hope. He felt less singular. He con...