This is a Friday Fictioneers submission for 17th July.
Apologies for my failure to comment on other people’s stories last time. I’m currently recovering from an horrendous case of the lurgy which has probably influenced the tenor of this story.
Thanks to Sandra Crook for the inspiration.
Thirty years, he’s been here. He’s seen the area evolve, watched the middle classes move out, then back in again with the first wave of gentrification, only to be displaced by the oligarchs. The area’s cleaner now, and there are fewer potholes in the road. Less character, though, reflects Cesare. Over the years he’s undergone a reciprocal transformation, largely unnoticed.
He leans on the bike, tempted, but not quite daring, to ring the bell. Surely the owner will be back soon, he thinks. He only asked him to mind it for five minutes, after all.
Thirty years he’s been here.