I’m standing in a field holding a
small metal coin with the letter ‘Q’ inscribed on it. Its memories takes me
back to an old town lined with small independent high street shops and cafes
with smells of freshly baked cakes drifting out of its doors. As I climb the
grassy hill to the top, all I can see is chained fencing with yellow diggers
perched on top of churned up soil behind them. This coin is all that is left of
the shop age; a time when people actually left their homes and spent time in
different buildings, browsing through the wares that each individual dwelling
had to offer. Nowadays we just stay put plugged into our screens and let
everything come to us. It’s too risky to set foot outside the door; there’s too
many machines zooming around with their packages to everyone’s drop zones.
Though how they can afford it all is beyond me.
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