Drizzle fell; Keith’s feet were damp – “Damn shoes”. He wandered down Marylebone Lane feeling coins in his pocket; two shillings, two pennies, and a joey. Enough for a cup of tea, a bus fare, and a chip supper. He enjoyed the warm café, the sweet tea, the still moments.
Back outside, his collar turned up, Keith trudged on through the rain. Stopping suddenly, Keith heard, from a second-floor window, an aria sung by a soprano – the notes soaring over the lane, lifting Keith’s spirits, taking him back to a concert hall in Barcelona and his sweetheart Isabella.
“My love.”
Jon Hunter: I am a Londoner, a recently retired teacher, who has been practicing writing for about two years. I am 60 years old. Website: jononstuff.com.
The Centifictionist 
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