WE DON’T KNOW WHEN HE’LL BE BACK

She went to the cash point at the Stapleton Road end of St. Marks.
I stood for a moment on the corner of Mivart opposite the Kasbah and thought about the colour and texture of the paving stone beneath my feet then walked to the charity shop where he’d told me he’d bought the books appeared on the floor of his front room the last two visits.
Behind the shop Joyce Grenfell was throwing a ball back and forth to a friend the other side of the valley which was a surprise because she didn’t have security clearance and she’s been dead for years.
She dropped one throw ran after the ball that bounced away and came to rest against the wall divided me from her.
From the ramparts I watched a dust cloud approach at great speed throwing bricks up left and right into the air when it hit the wall. I looked down at the small people screaming and running around the damage’d been caused then going back to their business when they noticed their panic was only panic and didn’t get the job done.
A long metal tube wound its way in segments from the breach into the heartland coming to a stop with a rounded end. I wondered what whoever was in there might be doing and if they’d ever see the light of day or at some time in the future I’d realise they’d left a long time ago.
Eventually she came back and gave me the money. Outside the Sweet Mart I passed him a wad and asked he buy me a book but not to take forever choosing.
‘Okay,’ he said but we don’t know when he’ll be back.