My Arrival In London, UK, More Than Two Decades Ago

The familiar city came into sight, big and sprawling. London, second time round. I already knew the city from the other time.
Kensington, Edgware, Marble Arch.  Streets of Gold. The first time, I'd ended up in a homeless hostel for a couple of days and hadn't coped. Relatives had paid for me to go to a student hostel in Kensington, but I hadn't coped there either.  Too much baggage. The relatives never really forgave me.  

This time things will be different, I promised myself as the train pulled in at Waterloo International. Very different.  I'd appeared on Stage recently for starters. I had a career. Had my name mentioned in the newspaper. Six months had passed since I'd won the trophy at the music competition; one month since my week at the prestigious Dartington International Summer School.

Bursary Boy. I was a concert pianist in training and on the run, though not from the police - but from myself and the ongoing PTSD that tormented me in dreams.  

The train terminated at Waterloo International, south of the river. No turning back. I got out with my electronic piano and headed towards the concourse, not knowing where I would stay that night.