Blessed Ignorance?

The tang of oil, cut with dust. No hint of burning. More importantly, no blood. Probably safe.

Tap. Tap. Duff.

Something soft in the doorway.

I crouch. Feels like a coat. Empty pockets. Rough untorn wool. Probably stained, but who’ll notice?

The shutter judders, but locks eventually.

I borrow the last of the coffee and huddle under my new acquisition. The chill still bites. Another reason to miss Snoop.

I risk the radio. The same emergency broadcast: Stay in your home. Don’t look at the symbols.

Almost out of cans. Should I head for the country? Are there blind farmers?