‘When I flew home from Chicago, the plane banked over central London, directly over where I worked. I knew then looking down, it was time to leave that job. I was entering new time. I recognised in my heart I was somewhere I shouldn’t be. I was romanticising something dead in the water. Like falling out of love. I’ve done this before; I’ve been here before. Bestowing gratitude on the undeserving when I pulled myself out and up from darker places than this.’
From Chicago, by Gerry King, out now.
With thanks to Federica and Mariona for the card.
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