I haven’t seen them for a while and then this morning I saw both of them. The Sikh came first, walking into the gloomy dawn shining white like a phantom. And then I saw the young boy and his grandfather, holding hands as always, (though who leads who is hard to determine for at one point the grandfather had to jerk him up onto the pavement at the approach of a car). I only saw them from the back but the boy seemed to be wearing an adult coat, for its’ sleeves hung down covering his hands. The old man walks with a determined if slow lilt, the boy looks tired as if pulled from sleep. What is their story, I wonder?
And now, I must write.
