Someone Passing By

Weird being back at the petrol station again. Five years I spent working there. Only ended up there because I hadn't really done anything all day. Slumbered through the morning. Read. Popped to the shops mid-afternoon and bought Darkthrone's excellent new album 'Circle the Wagons'. Mackerel, noodles, peas. Porridge in the morning. Slumbered through the afternoon.
The Portugese woman next door had friends over. Loud voices, all cheery and European. Music played very loud. Only one song admittedly. Funky latin sounding music with a chorus about life being beautiful. Was glad when they turned it off and the visitors left, singing the song down the stairs.
An obvious melancholy. Damn. Should have left the house. Done something. Gone for a walk. Met someone for a coffee. Gone down the pub. Idle hours inside lead to melancholy. Should have known.
Ah well.
It passes.
Best way for it to pass quicker go for a walk. 7:00pm when I left? Getting on for twilight. Still sunny though. A cool breeze a tad uncomfortable. Headed down the beach first. Last lingering bank-holidaymakers. Watched the sun over the sea, looping toward sunset. Walked west down the promenade, then up past the swimming pool and the closed playground. Two teenagers jumping on the trampolines, somersaulting and laughing. Looked like fun.
Up Sackville Road. Streetlamps on. Up onto the Old Shoreham Road and turn right. Pass Furniture Village, and there.
Five years in the form of a petrol station.
Across the forecourt, busy on the bank holiday Monday night. See Mike working. Still there.
Weird being back at the petrol station again.
Nothing changes here, not really. Mike, now twenty nine, the same age that I was when I began working there, all those years ago. Talk about old customers and old times. Look out of the window at the houses across the road, at the park in the distance.
Nothing changes here.
'You remember that guy from Hertz that used to come in?'
'Which one?'
'Guy with the pony tail?'
'Reg? -No Kai!'
I did remember him. He was a driver for the aforementioned Hertz, a company who had an account with the petrol station. He was in most days. A graying pony tail. In his fifties, but still looked young. Was some kind of musician, but wouldn't say what kind. Lively and strangely shy. Sometimes wore a leather jacket.
Always smiling.
Kind of thing you say about someone who had-
That strange falling feeling you get in your stomach.
Knew what was coming.
He had died, of course. Cancer. Came on quick. Knew something was wrong but didn't want to worry about it. Or was worrying about it. You know how it is. Men and , Doctors. Christmas it was. Didn't know him well enough to be sad about it, but still.
Looked outside the window at the cars passing, and the vans, and the people walking across the forecourt. Nothing changes here. Laughing with Mike about the time we thought the petrol station was haunted, about the time the assistant manager had absconded with £6000, about the exploits of the infamours 'Ginger Gang', most of whom had ended up in prison.
Good catching up.
Walked back through the night to the bedsit, took my old route down the Old Shoreham Road. Summery-smelling night, all hopeful and nostalgic at the same time.
Funny. I can still remember his voice.
I'll never find out what kind of musician he was now.