YOU WERE NOT HOME

THE JOB IS SIMPLE.

NAVIGATING IT IS NOT.

She has a motorbike, a damaged uniform and a courier’s pack that makes strangers mistake access for authority.

The city has hospitals above kitchens, night buses that run through bedrooms, drowned streets and more doors than places they could sensibly lead to.

At every stop, private worlds come loose around her through overheard arguments, half-eaten dinners and memories of rooms she has never entered.

EVERYBODY RECOGNISES THE WHITE LIGHT.

Nobody knows the woman carrying it.

YOU WERE NOT HOME is a night-shift story about the distance between reaching a place and belonging there.

The rain keeps falling.

The engine turns over.

Somebody is still waiting.

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