Sankey is a weird place. People are. Far side of the lake was where walkers decanted in late evening, like earthworms seeking darkness. Then in that darkness they let themselves loose. Uncles unleashing the hip gyro, aunties flailing arms in all directions and couples necking by the rails. All of it gone. Bright new lights installed. A mock sobriety returns, until the lights stop working. Until then, easier to run faster on this stretch and easier to dodge slow moving traffic. Ten kilometer weave through the lovely people here. This place isn’t for running. 

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