Majorca Flats -- 306

He started to walk. Lou doesn't want me. He doesn't love me any more. I don't blame him. Phil doesn't want me. Everything is finished. Marriage, job, life. I might as well be dead.

Without regarding where he walked, he stumped off, dragging his feet, his eyes glued to the pavement in front of him. He had no money. He had no phone to call anyone. He had no life.

He walked. He followed the tram lines towards the city. He walked and walked, in a daze of misery and horror, conscious only of the turmoil in his heart. The kilometres passed by unnoticed.

At last, he turned into a side street lined with Edwardian terraces. On the centre pediment of a set of five, he read the words “Majorca Flats�? moulded into the plaster.

He sat down on the kerb, weary beyond speech in his body, his heart and his soul, too worn even to weep.

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