Sunday, 4 December 2011


There’s a man standing in the shadow of a chestnut tree holding a pigeon clamped between his two hands. A blue car passes. The woman in the passenger seat says something but he’s not listening. He sees the man standing under the chestnut tree.
The tree is in flower. They look like candles.
When they get home, he trawls through the TV channels. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. When he hits the off button he realises he likes the black nothing best.

He hears tyres turning on the gravel of his drive. The cat runs in, a sleigh bell noise coming from its collar. It sits down and scratches its ear and the bell rings faster.

She says something about money. The TV goes on. He walks over to the window. The tree still casts its shadow.
The man has gone.

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