Six months later the car pullsout of the very normal street. It’s still light as the summer nights are just beginning to take hold. The tenements are allowing the evening sun to poke through, toying coquettishly with the shadows and latterly our minds. The neighbours are all holed up in their Sunday night fugue and I wave rather limply as the car hobbles over the speed bumps. Almost out of sight, I light a cigarette.
It’s funny how something so significant seems so very vague, so very unimportant. I wonder if the new downstairs couple will bother about the smoke smell as it nonchalantly wisps towards their window. I wonder if anyone bothers at all. I turn around half expecting to find someone to tell that he’s gone, and not just to the shops for bread. Really gone. Might not be back. Well, you never know.