Roman Road, January 31st

There’s a ripple of excitement through the Post Office.

‘Oh! You have a little friend!” says a woman on crutches at the sweets counter.

“Yes, he comes in every day for his lunch.”

A ginger cat is munching brown treats from a bowl. I wonder if it’s the same cat that curls up in the afternoon sun on the wall outside my window. If it is, he’s lost weight.

“Who does he belong to?” asks a woman at the post counter.

“All of us. He’s Roman Road’s cat. Everyone knows him. He’s just doing the rounds” says the man.

The cat finishes and slinks out of the shop. The woman on the crutches smiles and nods as he passes.

“He might be off to get another lunch,” says the man at the post counter, “He’s a lazy cat.”

“He is NOT lazy,” replies the woman. She looks towards the door but the cat is gone. “…I think he’s lovely.” She smiles before jolting back to the moment and paying for her stamps.

******

An old man with a walking stick shuffles onto the pavement and collapses his weight onto an electricity box. He grimaces, catching his breath.

“You alright Bob?” calls another old man passing.

He straightens and smiles, “Oh yeah, I’m alright! How are you?”

The friend walks on. His smile drops. He focuses. The stick strikes the pavement, and he launches across another ocean as he shuffle-steps, shuffle-steps, shuffle-steps - and leans on the window-sill of the pub.

****

In the cafe four work-mates are ordering lunch.

“Can I get lasagne, chips, beans, and coke - and NOT that Diet Coke! None of that diet shit!” She laughs. Her friends give a polite chuckle. The waiter nods but doesn’t look up from his pad. He waits for the next order.

“Oh em, and can I get an omelette, onion rings, beans, hash browns - and… do you have brown bread? I don’t eat white bread….”

The waiter nods. The first woman raises her eyebrows.

****

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