And yeah, there was always that worry, especially when I didn’t go anywhere or actively try to find someone. I didn’t see the point—since I’d come out, it seemed everyone treated me like a leper. Down in the bloody dumps, that’s what I was and, I had to admit, maybe enjoying that a bit too much. It was something to occupy my mind. Buck up, you silly bastard. Put a smile on your face. All well and good, but my face didn’t fancy stretching into a grin any time soon—and I didn’t know how to make that happen anymore. I left the office block, this tall, monstrous building constructed more from glass than anything else, and headed across the street. Shops—consisting of a bookies, launderette and a Tesco Express—stood in a row as though leaning against one another for support. I kind of understood their need—except I didn’t have anyone to lean onto. I frowned, crossing the road, annoyed at myself, because I’d slipped right back into negative thinking without, well, thinking about it.
