truth and beauty bombs

Timmy liked to walk places at night. His walkman was always too loud, but he didn't like to hear his footsteps against the pavement, they never sounded like his own. He walked slowly, long legs taking their time with each step, taking care never to walk on a crack. he often thought about what he would say if someone asked him why he was walking so strangely, and whether it would be worth it to explain his complicated system of not walking on the cracks. He usually decided he'd just answer that he wasn't walking funny. In the night time no one asked him questions, he could just walk quietly, music blacking out the things in his head that were too complicated, thoughts about growing up, fantasies that he'd never followed through on. He never saw anyone on these walks, and that was the way he liked it. Giving an occasional nod to the passing buses was all the socialisation he needed. he'd always written better than he'd talked anyway. It was windy tonight, the rain slapped him across the face like an outrage. but he didn't mind. So he walked, one step after the other. One step after the other.