I like walking. Don’t like buses, can’t afford ‘em. Walking’s exercise, and helps you sleep. It’s the Cross Street Mission today. Soup, roll and beef stew. The people who run it are okay, except one. Well-meaning causes trouble, mostly.
He sent me to that counselor at the Helping Hands Foundation. The woman, squeezed into a rust-colored top, said, “Adrian, if you could settle, stop moving, confront the loss of your family, you’d feel better. So talk.”
Daft cow. “Walking’s always moving forward,” I said. “Can’t change the past by going back. I’m a walking Time Machine.”