I hadn’t been out for a while so I went for a walk down the town, just to get some cigarettes, and I was sitting down on a bench outside the community centre and a woman came out and asked if I was alright. I told her I was fine but she wouldn’t let up and she kept asking me are you sure you’re alright and I wasn’t doing anything, just sitting there. Thinking.
I’ve done that a lot since I retired.
She must have been recruiting for the centre because she came back a little later with a pile of leaflets. She thought I might be interested in joining in. She said they had all kinds: ping-pong, writing, and something called knit-and-natter. I’ve never been one to natter.
I couldn’t light a cigarette because there were No Smoking signs, even in the streets. I was getting ready to go when a man holding a banjo came up to me. ‘It’s a ukelele,’ he said, showing it like he expected me to be interested. ‘I took it up a few months ago. You can play anything on a ukelele, It’s not just George Formby.’
I’d never heard of George Formby and I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to get into conversation. I’d come to sit down and have a think.
We sat in silence until the man left to catch his bus.
I wonder if my library card’s still valid after all these years. I might pop in later.
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Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 