The train is racing through a bitterly cold night, pointing south. My hands are still regaining their warmth after fifteen minutes spent pacing the station platform, collar turned up ineffectually against the wind.  

I place my headphones over my ears. A huge moon hangs low in the sky, bridges across the Tyne illuminated. Soon I've left the city, and can only see my ghostly reflection staring back out of the darkness.  

Newcastle felt big - not geographically, but architecturally. Grand buildings, the grandest of bridges. A city in the way Leeds is not. Maybe I saw it with a tourist's eyes, but it felt like there was a greater substance. Leeds so often feels like nothing more than a themed open air shopping mall. Culture and history are a sideshow to high consumerism.

I will arrive in Leeds station in an hour, walk through the city centre, catch a bus to my corner of suburbia. I will walk under the same moon, now higher in the sky, smaller, less grand. I will ride in my small hills tomorrow. I'm beginning to crave something bigger. I'm not sure what yet.  

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