By Mat Growcott
Paris was their city. They walked hand-in-hand along the Seine. They laughed at nothing—a montage in one of the great technicolour romances, with a backdrop of the Eiffel Tower and a misty moon that fills the sky.
Malcolm watched as she stepped off his bus and into the London fog. He watched as she hugged a man who’d been waiting for her. He watched as she disappeared from view.
He pressed the button to close the door, waiting a moment in case she returned. She never did. Gone, maybe for good. But for the briefest moment, they’d always had Paris.
The wonderful power of imagination. Very nicely done!