“It’s bright,” she said.
“Yeah, it’s lovely. Though there’s talk of storms, so maybe this is the calm before.”
“God, I hope not.”
We passed by the bar. Out the back of the canteen hung two black racks – they looked like torture devices to my eye – from which hung white tea towels, dying in the sun. A white van with ‘Pegasus’ emblazoned along its side for no apparent reason, until you got close enough to read the smaller lettering. ‘Maintenance. Used by local authorities.’ How the hell did they come up with the name Pegasus?
The air was crisp, but the sun was free of clouds – for the first time in weeks – so was not as cold as previous days. A lone tree with drooping red leaves brought to mind an image of bloody water. A man – no, a woman – shuffled across the car park, paperwork in hand, her pink knit jumper at odds with her sagging, masculine jeans. The curved walkway past the side of the rounded library leading to- where?
“Where did this spring from?” Like Atlantis rising from the waves.
“You mean the race track that’s always been here?”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
Dead slow. Why would a sign say dead slow? Is it a joke, this close to the racetrack? But it’s in a car park, so maybe not. Maybe they were serious. Whoever ‘they’ were. Dead slow. Why those words?