My feet dangle off the motorway bridge as the sewage-infused air hits my cheeks violently. Looking towards the lost girl beside me, I realise what a sorry pair we must look like. Few words are exchanged between us. Rather honestly, we never really had much in common. Yet here we are. Our rationed pringles can rattles as we knock back some sickly sweet ciders. I force a smile at her but the sugar and cold drill into my teeth in a way that makes me sternly seal my lips. 

Oddly enough, this is the comfort I needed. There’s no stars or a beautiful hill to climb, just gas canisters and truckers going by. It’s all ugly and simple.