Flight
Islington grabs at my cloak as I leave the room. Turning down, I give the little cutie a tiny grin before facing forward and running, clearing the ground into the clouds.
Spinning through the bright blue English afternoon with my red-leather case hanging at my oscillating side I breath in some water vapour whipping about me. A good drink for the travels.
I pass a city block of flats and rap on some glass behind an England flag towel hanger before shooting on, glancing as a lank looking teenager leaps in the air as he realises who I am.
Slowing down I notice my pipe has gone out and stop to relight for a quick puff with a finger spark. A little giggle later and I spin off, gaining ever more height.