The Tar Pit

I strap on my hard hat and set off down the avenue of broken promises.

Another day, another shop looted. Storefront glass strewn across the pavement. My steel-cap boots crunch on the shards, representing yet another broken promise, another broken dream, as I head towards the tar pit of sorrow, despair, and disillusionment.

A ray of sunshine! A light beam breaks through the oppressive clouds.

A new team member brings desperately needed youthful vigour, vitality, and that so powerful feeling: hope.

We arrange to meet in town on her first day. I strap on an ill-fitting hard hat. They don't make hard hats for eight year olds. Wearing a Peppa Pig top and some Rupert Bear trousers she holds out her hand and I lead her down the avenue of broken promises.

As we walk on, the dark clouds engulf us. Before we disappear into the blackness she looks up at me and smiles.