The Last Time.
When I had the freedom of movement that comes with a healthy body and was able to experience the familiar sights, sounds, scents and the atmosphere of Nottingham City Centre, I never imagined that it could all be lost.
I didn’t anticipate all the last times there would be. When I made decisions about what time to meet friends and family, which shops to visit, which route to take, where to eat, when to leave and whether to take a train or a bus, I didn’t know that those freedoms could be lost.
I didn’t know that there would be a last time for each of them. When I took a bus to the Broadmarsh Centre and browsed through the shops, I didn’t know it would be the last time. When I feasted my eyes on the jewelry in Ice Nine, I didn’t know it would be the last time.
When I was hit by the smell of the Lush store long before I reached it, I didn’t know it would be the last time. When I went to an art exhibition at the Angel Row Gallery, I didn’t know it would be the last time.
When I had passport photos taken with my sister and nephew in the photo booth at the Victoria Centre Boots, I didn’t know it would be the last time. When I went to the cinema with a friend, buying a subway beforehand and sneaking it in, I didn’t know it would be the last time.
When I wore uncomfortable heels and went to a nightclub with friends and danced as much as I liked, I didn’t know it would be the last time. When I complained about waiting for a train or bus that was running late, I didn’t know it would be the last time.
When I arranged to meet a friend at the left lion, I didn’t know it would be.
