He came back from the launderette where he’d bumped into the woman who runs the sandwich shop and she told him. He’d had diabetes and had been failing. He was at school with him, though he hadn’t known him well, just enough to greet him in the coffee shop. Over the last few years he hadn’t bothered to raise the metal shutters from the windows. He still stood in the doorway, blocking rather than encouraging people’s entry it always seemed to me.
