The Only Living Boy on Bleaker Street
it will all make sense in the end
Jack sat on his porch, bundled in an old, malodourous duvet he had dragged from the dusty attic. Christmas had been two days ago, he supposed everyone was sleeping off their excesses. He needed this quiet emptiness. Something to absorb the noise in his head. Enormous snowflakes the size of a child’s fist floated and flittered through the chilled air. Under the weak cones of the streetlights the flakes looked like dancing...
