A man walks along a seafront in February. Ice coats the rocks. The waves strike the concrete walkway and break into cold spray. He pulls his coat tighter. The houses look unoccupied. A woman approaches. She pulls her woolly scarf tighter. They pass. She doesn’t turn to look at him.
Ralph Goldswain lives in London. He writes fiction, non fiction, history, and has been widely published in the UK, America and South Africa. He’s now settled on writing microfiction, his greatest writing challenge.
This story is like an Edward Hopper painting. You perfectly capture the feeling of isolation and loneliness even while being in physical proximity with another human being.