THE END OF THE WORLD

I walked into my front room overlooks the east side of town. It was very tidy. Especially the table in the corner by the window.
But something was missing.
The computer.
‘They’ve taken everything. The printer and the external hard drives, both of them,’ I said. ‘And they didn’t leave a mess.’
He wrote in his notebook. A spiral reporter’s notebook. Biro. Black ink.
He wore a light coloured linen suit. And a fedora with para boots he’d bought from an army navy stores was on the quayside.
I looked at the table expecting to feel a great sense of loss but instead knew, that even if all those things had gone it wasn’t the end of the world.