The postman looked new.
He clearly didn’t know what he was doing.
I asked him if he had the redirected mail for no 4.
He did, after a while.
He volunteered that he was going to Yeovil straight afterwards, to go to his father’s funeral. 56. Of cancer. In a hospice.
I touched him on the arm.
All felt strangely natural…
He said: See you on Saturday. And went.
This sort of stuff would NEVER HAPPEN IN LONDON!