Blessed Ignorance?

100 Words of Speculation written over a background of fountain pen and printed text

The tang of oil, cut with dust. No hint of burning. More importantly, no blood. Probably safe.

Tap. Tap. Duff.

Something soft in the doorway.

I crouch. Feels like a coat. Empty pockets. Rough untorn wool. Probably stained, but who’ll notice?

The shutter judders, but locks eventually.

I borrow the last of the coffee and huddle under my new acquisition. The chill still bites. Another reason to miss Snoop.

I risk the radio. The same emergency broadcast: Stay in your home. Don’t look at the symbols.

Almost out of cans. Should I head for the country? Are there blind farmers?

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