Leave the strange to the strangers

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A bloodied angel lies roadside near Chiswick High Road just as I was walking past. The weary soul took no notice of me; its gaze locked shut on a faraway front, July weather and all. If only I can look away. The sheer amount of effort it takes to feign normality under strange circumstances allow me to dwell upon mine own weak determination. Five minutes I thought of nothing and dragged my feet forward heavily one after the other, and only finally then she was gone, out of sight.

What strange circumstances would I have landed upon had I chosen to take a path clearly less taken. No soul in that moment would have stopped to think to notice. I did, if only for a while.

Saving stray cherubs are no work for the likes of me. Certainly not me. Obviously not me. Leave the strange to the strangers.

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