Image by Christine Renney
As the man walks he is reassured by the line of traffic on his right, by its constancy. He doesn’t look directly at it but instead focuses on the road ahead and it is a blur and harmless, a childish scrawl of smudged crayon.
The man has become fascinated by the things he finds alongside the road – fast food cartons and cans of course but also other discarded items. Perhaps objects would be a better description, even artefacts. Most are useless and many are unrecognisable; pieces, puzzles in hard plastic and now not-so shiny metal.
Carrion. This is how the man refers to the debris. In his head it is always the carrion, because the birds, the crows, swoop down and peck at it. But it isn’t.
Up ahead the man spots a blown out tyre and he steps from the grass bank onto the hard shoulder. The tyre is shredded and ripped but otherwise complete. He kicks at it. At least he knows what this is and where it came from.