It was 6:30pm and cold, and Peter’s head lay a mere window’s thickness away from the October drizzle. His stop was coming up. The evenings were drawing shorter. He alighted the bus, wearing the darkness of the night like an ill-fitting overcoat. Four-hundred and twelve steps later he arrived at his home, threw the keys into the basket, and flicked the light switch.

“SURPRISE!!” was the result. Twenty-five of his favourites were gathered underneath a pink, glittery birthday banner in his living room.  It wasn’t even his birthday. This only served to heighten the shock: he died instantly of heart failure. At least he was in good company.