Everybody seemed to be having a birthday in the coffee shop – well, at least three people were. It made us feel connected somehow. We talked to people we wouldn’t normally talk to (at least I did). And they let him have a packet of shortbread on the house, which he didn’t, in the end, eat. Save it for another day, he told them.
It rained again when it shouldn’t have. Sneaky of them, said our neighbour at his window. He is looking a little less death-like. I still said nothing.
