STILL LIFE

On the back shelf of the car, in full view, what looked like an expensive pocket watch, turned out to be a cheap chain wrapped around a stainless steel teaspoon.
The car didn’t start first time. The second try ran down the battery to flat. I took the handbrake off. The car rolled down the hill with a line of traffic, been stuck behind, coming after. I bump started from second gear.
Drove round a woman stood in the road, who had black hair, wore a long black skirt and short black roll-neck top, carried a clipboard, she ticked the names off of children getting on to a coach and looked at me angrily as she hopped onto the high curb as I passed.
To my left a still life - man inside holding a green front door open for a woman standing outside on the front garden path - reminded me of two times he’d visited:
1) coming into my room he went straight over to my computer and turned it off.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘I can’t be here,’ he said, ‘with the radiation it gives out,’ and,
2) I went to fetch something from another part of the flat and came back to find him standing holding open a door to one of the cupboards in the kitchen.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘You don’t mind do you?’ he said, ‘I’m looking for something to
eat.’