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Description
One thing that I’d discovered about bound paper is its reluctance to be anything but a journal. Opening a book for the second time is like reading entries penned in vanilla scented baths or public transport. My battered 1984 smelled strongly of woodstove smoke from the winter I worked in the converted flour mill. As I opened the waxed and smudged pages of Digital Redemption, it emptied a few grains of sand onto my lap and filled the car with fragrances of sun lotion and sweat.
Digital figures ticked over and the song changed, starting the album over again. It was slightly shy of 2am. The air outside was thick and damp, coating the windows with an even fog of rain. Orange street light glowed softly through the windscreen steam mixing with the soft hum of the radiator and low Scottish tones seeping from the speakers. It occurred to me that this could be held as romantic. My mind flicked to the back seats of my happy, uncertain, ongoing youth.
Inside the pub, Ben was probably on his seventh lager and would be full of a sweet toxic buzz, celebrating the homecoming of his brother. Lesley Blake had been touring the world, taking a year long break from the chore that he rather simply and cheerlessly saw as being himself.
The door of the passenger side clanked with the sound of a tugged locked handle, pulling away memories of artless and certain hands from my hair and thighs. I knew it was him, through the fogged glass I could see the inoffensive choice of denim and cream that I had offered the advise of much earlier in the evening. Turning down the music and righting my seat, I unlocked the doors of my Fiat, letting a June gust and three men inside. Stale strains of hops and smoke dripped from their hair and cottons, chastening the air, leaving nothing but the conversation.
'Hey you.' Ben smiled widely, eyes roving clumsily over my face as I realized that I had overestimated his power over lager. As if to underline my thoughts, he turned away and shared the fruits of his evening with the gutter.
'Yeah.' A hand from the backseat stretched past me, reaching for the radio's tuning dial, unfortunately finding the volume first. 'Hey.'
If it hadn't been for a deep lineless tan, no one would know that he was a traveled and rested soul. His hair was slightly lighter and arms slightly leaner, but nothing about him felt different. It seemed to me that his swagger was impervious to influence.
'Lesley. Welcome home.' I felt a stiff silence fall in between the stations. “Have fun?' After a year, there really should be more to say.
'I've been home 14 hours,' He stated, sitting back, dramatically incredulous, 'and you have already managed to cheapen a years worth of cultural and spiritual saturation into...' Lesley's face paled with the control of his nausea and, happily, the direction of the sentence. The car rocked gently as the last of the drunken set swung Ben back into his seat and climbed into his own.
'Don't be such a queen, Blake. And yes, it was an awesome trip, thank you...' The interior light clicked off and the engine kicked into life. With the doors closed, the heat and brutal combination of smells rose uncomfortably.
'Oh, right,' Lesley's sickness seemed to have dulled, 'Nal, this is Jake Austin. Jake, this is...' A rough encounter with a speed bump quietened him down to short gagging sounds.
'I'm sorry, I just... I'm sorry.' Colour crept into my cheeks and I muttered the apology. The air became solid and choking, I flicked my eyes nervously to the rear view mirror to find Jake smiling as I wound down my window. The undercarriage skittered noisily across another bump, issuing a yelping complaint from Lesley.
'Jake. Hi. I didn't kn...' I was still watching him. His smile widened and he flicked his hand calmly, hushing me.
'It's very kind of you to take us home. And it's very nice to meet you Nal' I tightened my mouth into a short frown. ‘That’s an unusual name, so pretty.’
Quiet static overcame the music but no one moved to change it. Ben was still being studiously silent. After fifteen minutes, I pulled to a stop outside the Blake home, finally clicking off the radio. The brothers began an argument about house keys – who had them, who should have them, and who should stick them where – which followed them into the street and a friendly fist fight on the pavement.
‘I missed you August,’ his voice felt close and heavy, hot on my neck, ‘I really did.’
Distracted, strangled laughing came from Ben as he was caught in a headlock by Lesley. I reached over to close the passenger door.
‘Get out of the damn car Jake.’ My voice didn’t leave room for argument. He sat back. I observed the year of differences in him, subtle and shadowed, but I noticed them all. He did as I asked.

I drove to the beach, opened Digital Redemption and saturated it with a new entry, aided by the moon, fading rain and the moths drawn by the headlights.

Description
One thing that I’d discovered about bound paper is its reluctance to be anything but a journal. Opening a book for the second time is like reading entries penned in vanilla scented baths or public transport. My battered 1984 smelled strongly of woodstove smoke from the winter I worked in the converted flour mill. As I opened the waxed and smudged pages of Digital Redemption, it emptied a few grains of sand onto my lap and filled the car with fragrances of sun lotion and sweat.
Digital figures ticked over and the song changed, starting the album over again. It was slightly shy of 2am. The air outside was thick and damp, coating the windows with an even fog of rain. Orange street light glowed softly through the windscreen steam mixing with the soft hum of the radiator and low Scottish tones seeping from the speakers. It occurred to me that this could be held as romantic. My mind flicked to the back seats of my happy, uncertain, ongoing youth.
Inside the pub, Ben was probably on his seventh lager and would be full of a sweet toxic buzz, celebrating the homecoming of his brother. Lesley Blake had been touring the world, taking a year long break from the chore that he rather simply and cheerlessly saw as being himself.
The door of the passenger side clanked with the sound of a tugged locked handle, pulling away memories of artless and certain hands from my hair and thighs. I knew it was him, through the fogged glass I could see the inoffensive choice of denim and cream that I had offered the advise of much earlier in the evening. Turning down the music and righting my seat, I unlocked the doors of my Fiat, letting a June gust and three men inside. Stale strains of hops and smoke dripped from their hair and cottons, chastening the air, leaving nothing but the conversation.
'Hey you.' Ben smiled widely, eyes roving clumsily over my face as I realized that I had overestimated his power over lager. As if to underline my thoughts, he turned away and shared the fruits of his evening with the gutter.
'Yeah.' A hand from the backseat stretched past me, reaching for the radio's tuning dial, unfortunately finding the volume first. 'Hey.'
If it hadn't been for a deep lineless tan, no one would know that he was a traveled and rested soul. His hair was slightly lighter and arms slightly leaner, but nothing about him felt different. It seemed to me that his swagger was impervious to influence.
'Lesley. Welcome home.' I felt a stiff silence fall in between the stations. “Have fun?' After a year, there really should be more to say.
'I've been home 14 hours,' He stated, sitting back, dramatically incredulous, 'and you have already managed to cheapen a years worth of cultural and spiritual saturation into...' Lesley's face paled with the control of his nausea and, happily, the direction of the sentence. The car rocked gently as the last of the drunken set swung Ben back into his seat and climbed into his own.
'Don't be such a queen, Blake. And yes, it was an awesome trip, thank you...' The interior light clicked off and the engine kicked into life. With the doors closed, the heat and brutal combination of smells rose uncomfortably.
'Oh, right,' Lesley's sickness seemed to have dulled, 'Nal, this is Jake Austin. Jake, this is...' A rough encounter with a speed bump quietened him down to short gagging sounds.
'I'm sorry, I just... I'm sorry.' Colour crept into my cheeks and I muttered the apology. The air became solid and choking, I flicked my eyes nervously to the rear view mirror to find Jake smiling as I wound down my window. The undercarriage skittered noisily across another bump, issuing a yelping complaint from Lesley.
'Jake. Hi. I didn't kn...' I was still watching him. His smile widened and he flicked his hand calmly, hushing me.
'It's very kind of you to take us home. And it's very nice to meet you Nal' I tightened my mouth into a short frown. ‘That’s an unusual name, so pretty.’
Quiet static overcame the music but no one moved to change it. Ben was still being studiously silent. After fifteen minutes, I pulled to a stop outside the Blake home, finally clicking off the radio. The brothers began an argument about house keys – who had them, who should have them, and who should stick them where – which followed them into the street and a friendly fist fight on the pavement.
‘I missed you August,’ his voice felt close and heavy, hot on my neck, ‘I really did.’
Distracted, strangled laughing came from Ben as he was caught in a headlock by Lesley. I reached over to close the passenger door.
‘Get out of the damn car Jake.’ My voice didn’t leave room for argument. He sat back. I observed the year of differences in him, subtle and shadowed, but I noticed them all. He did as I asked.

I drove to the beach, opened Digital Redemption and saturated it with a new entry, aided by the moon, fading rain and the moths drawn by the headlights.