I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself or feeling abandoned, but I did find myself on a Friday night without much to do. Mom was off doing something, the girls, with Tina in tow, were on a call with some guy in Japan (and running up a phone bill that I would probably freak out about later), and everyone at the office had gone home to their families.So I decided to go for a run. I don’t normally run at night; but I don’t have much desire to watch TV, and just sitting around watching other people do stuff drives me crazy.Instead of running through the neighborhood, which was what I did on my morning runs, I decided to jog into the town proper. If for nothing else, the change of scenery would give me something to think about.I was just getting onto the bridge that crossed the Trinity River, which ran through the middle of town, when something caught my attention.In the middle part of the bridge, the highest point, a man was outside the railing, hanging onto it with both hands. I quickened my. I was ready to begin my two-mile walk to Sussex Square where Bobby lived.Coming out of Brighton Station, I felt the icy weather bite into me. Pulling my smartphone out of my pocket, I pressed the power button. The screen came to life, showing me the temperature and time. It was two-thirty in the morning, and the temperature was minus two degrees Celsius. I zipped up my jacket, turned on my Google Map app and punched in the postal code. It showed the street name and forty-five minutes. Pressing the blue start icon on the screen the arrow appeared. I began to walk towards the direction the pointer showed. From the station to the beach, it was a maze of side roads. There wasn’t a single person on the streets at this time. The seafront, on the other hand, was livelier, especially around The Brighton Pier. I was tempted to jump into one of the taxi’s to take me to Sussex Square, but I thought, best not too. The fewer people I have contact with in Brighton the better. My journey down here.
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