He goes every day – 20ps in his pocket; the number, he once knew by heart, scribbled on a scrap of paper.
Some days no one answers, or a stilted voice just gives racing tips. Less often now there is a job – something local, nothing that requires speed.
The walk takes longer each day, the occasional stumble; the rare fall. He got a landline years ago; has the latest smart technology in his inside pocket, but each day he varies his route to the last phone box, hoping that before he dies, he will be told where the loot is buried.
Some days no one answers, or a stilted voice just gives racing tips. Less often now there is a job – something local, nothing that requires speed.
The walk takes longer each day, the occasional stumble; the rare fall. He got a landline years ago; has the latest smart technology in his inside pocket, but each day he varies his route to the last phone box, hoping that before he dies, he will be told where the loot is buried.
