This is it, you can stop – Jim said to the driver. Strangely, the taximeter showed forty-five, the same as his age. He scratched out the money from the pocket of his jeans. The old man thanked him for the large tip, too happy to get rid of him.
Jim watched the black cab as it was cutting the soil, but finally made it and arrived back on the road. It gained speed from there on and following the curve of the landscape disappeared behind a green slope. Only then he turned towards the broken skyline.
His legs felt leaden with the tiredness of a night spent in the pubs. They were pulling him down making the struggle with the mud nearly impossible. After a few steps up on the slippery surface a strong wind caught into his jacket. The smell of the icy north stiffened his nostrils. The rebelliousness of nature annoyed him. Rage screwed up his acidic stomach.
After a few more yards gained against the sticky soil he arrived at the end of the field. He stopped on the last glistening patch of grass, then carefully balanced his way onto the very edge of the crumbling rock band...