Meeting a stranger Stories

It was a shelter, not my home. After she died, I lived there out of necessity. But I couldn’t bear the thought of spending all day inside on my own, so every morning, I headed out for a walk. My route was always the same: across the recreation ground, then along the main road to the little arcade. I drifted past the shops and cafés, letting my movement fill the silence. Once upon a time, I’d have stepped into the bank to...