IT HAPPENS

He was sitting on the low wall of the further of the two flowerbeds in front of the entrance to the block as I came back from Broadmead. He waved, I nodded.
He followed me in. I behaved like he hadn't not sure he lived here and didn't want to ask. He stood behind me as I stared at the tiles to the left of the lift.
'Hello,' I said.
'How long you lived here?' he said.
'Ten years,' I said. 'You?'
'Six months.'
'You like it?'
'I don't know,' he said. 'I lived in supported housing before so it's different from that.'
'A bit more challenging, I imagine?'
'Yet, having to cook for myself and pay all the bills.'
I got in the lift and pressed for my floor, wondered what he'd do. By the time the door'd closed and the lift was on the way up he hadn't pressed a button.
'Might he come up with me see, where I live,' I thought...
...he pressed...
'I still get help,' he said. 'Not as much though.'
'Independent living,' I said.
'I used to do it alright,' he said. 'I was a plumber but, you know...'
...a moment...
'Yes,' I said, 'it happens.'