It was quiet again as I walked this morning. Quiet that is except for the intermittent rustling of leaves in the trees, the lapping of the tide, the purr of an ambulance’s engine as it crawled through the town, the tinny clamour of music (possibly something by Genesis) from a radio lying next to a body in a sleeping bag outside Smith’s next to which were two empty vodka bottles and the tapping of my stick on the tarmacadam.
