A grey, monotonous sky is broken by a tattered hole. Blue shows through it for a moment, but it quickly closes.
In Sainsbury's a short, round man, walks slowly past me as I wait on the far side of the checkout. He wears a dark blue cap and a light blue shirt bearing the company logo. He is carrying two transparent boxes of fruit salad. He is whistling the theme of the toreador's song from Bizet's Carmen.
I put my head out of the front door and breathe the late afternoon air. It smells of rain and wet vegetation. In the distance I hear the contented cooing of doves.