‘My mum always said not to talk to strangers. It’s a good thing I didn’t listen to her,” I thought to myself. I would be like her, shut-in and afraid of everything and everyone. I yearned for the open air, the road under my feet. I wrote extensively of my travels, my wandering, the people I meet. I wasn’t sure what I would do with these writings, perhaps publish, perhaps just keep to myself. I just knew I could never show them to my mum. She’d guilt me into never leaving her, and I swore I would never be like her.

I sit at the bar of a local pub, watching the footie match on TV. Arsenal was down, bummer. I sipped my ale, and wrote of my day. I had strolled down the City streets, petting random cats and just enjoying life. True, I was down on the last of my funds, but there was always someway of earning money honestly. Washing dishes, part-time at a shop. I earned my way on my own, without relying on anyone.

I checked my phone, three missed calls. She was begging for attention again, and I didn’t have the energy for it. It wasn’t even that she had some tragedy that made her stay in, she just chose it. Keep her offspring in with her, to be mini-hers. Not me. I got out.

“Bloody Arsenal,” the chap to my side commented. “They’ve been off all season, I don’t know why I bother watching anymore.”

“Footie fans love misery,” I responded. “Back in the States, my MLS team is terrible, but we still go to matches. We cheer for the underdog, even if we know there isn’t much hope.”

“Aye, that’s the truth of it. I haven’t been to a match in years, but I still come to this pub and watch when they’re on. Usually a bigger crowd shows.”

“Still early in the season,” I pointed out. “Bit of nasty weather later today, that might be keeping people in today.” Small talk. Breaking out of my shell. These tiny skills took me years to cultivate. Even know, the urge to clam up and shut down tries to rear up, but I fought those monsters. My new friend didn’t seem to notice. I was proud of myself.

We continued to chat about the differences between British and US footies (including calling it “soccer” or not.). Some good natured ribbing, but mostly great conversation. But alas, my beer was done.

“Well, it was great talking to you,” I said, grabbing my rucksack and ready to take off. Arsenal has just scored, and m buddy was enraptured with the screen, and just grunted a goodbye. Laughing to myself, I left.

The clouds did look menacing, but they were of no concern. I was free and myself. The road under my feet, book and pen in my hand. I’d get some work, and return to this pub next match.

Life was good.