Man Of Few Words

Chapter 2

I'm sitting at my desk. It's by a window.

I've opened the blinds for the first time in... at least a few days. It still looks much the same out there. It's quite a nice day. There are clouds in the sky – some of them big and grey – but the sun seems to be managing to dodge and weave among them, and the sky, where it's visible, is a deep, vivid blue.

My flat – this side of it, at least – overlooks a complicated, but not usually especially busy, road junction. A total of six streets meet here. My flat is one entire floor of a narrow building wedged in the gap where two of these streets converge, so I have decent views of the outside world on three sides, and a fairly close-up view of the ivy-covered wall of the neighbouring building at the back.

The view from where I'm currently sat is dominated by the church on the opposite side of the starfish-esque junction. It's fairly modest as churches go – a relatively modern brick building that blends in with its surroundings while doing just enough to distinguish itself as... definitely a church.

At least... I think it's still a church. A lot of them around here have been converted into bars.

If I peer downwards a little, I can see a small greengrocer's. A stooped, dark grey man is shuffling past, looking at the fresh produce proudly displayed out front with an expression that blends mistrust with disapproval. It's like he's thinking, "What is the point of all that? Whatever next..." I imagine he prefers a fag, a pint and a pie to anything so colourful and vital. Oddly, although it's been a perfectly dry day, he has the distinct look of someone who's been rained on recently.

Peering further down I can see the new electric car charging point. The car currently hooked up to it looks like a toy. My midnight blue BMW is parked behind it. It looks like something an arsehole would love driving. But actually, I hardly ever drive it.

To the left of the church, on the other side of one of the six roads, is a large white house, which is almost entirely obscured by a very jolly looking tree. It looks like a giant, loose afro balloon dancing in the breeze. The house has a very traditional brick wall around it, in front of which on the corner of the pavement is a very traditional red post box.

Meanwhile, to the right of the church, across another road, I can see a shop that sells fried chicken and kebabs, directly opposite of which is a shop that sells kebabs and fried chicken. On the corner in front of the kebabs and fried chicken place is a wide area of pavement dotted with a handful of freshly planted saplings protected by black-painted, circular iron cages. In among them I can count eight small, purpose-built bike rails. Not one of these has a bike chained to it.

Oh, as I write this, a small boy is approaching on a micro scooter. Is he going to chain his scooter to one of the rails?

No. He's folding it up and taking it with him into the fried chicken and kebab shop.

Sorry, the kebab and fried chicken shop.

The window is closed, but it's bright outside so I can't see my reflection in it. However, when I turn to look at the laptop on which I'm typing this, I can make out the outline of part of the right side of my face. The laptop screen is badly in need of a clean. I've been coughing a lot.

I don't have a separate study or home office in this flat. I work at a small, uncluttered desk by one of the windows in the flat's large, open living space, mainly so that I have something other than the laptop screen to stare at while I'm thinking. Like I said, this isn't an especially busy junction, but with six roads converging on one spot – one spot in London – there's bound to be something happening out there at any given time. Something totally mundane usually, but at least it's something. Just enough to distract me in the right sort of way. The best ideas come to you when you're not looking for them, after all. There's a waterproof notepad and pen stuck to the wall next to my bath/shower for the exact same reason.