By Perry McDaid
He stared at the back door, the bolt, the handle, the Georgian wire in the reinforced window.
He stared at the unhelpful yellow Post-it.
He shook his head and almost turned.
The carer rapped at the window.
“You’ve stuck the wrong one on again, Billy, haven’t you?” she called, her voice muffled by the intervening door. “It’s a blank from the wrong pad.”
She had a nice smile.
Patiently, Shirley reminded him who she was by pointing at the ‘Friends Gallery’ snaps on the fridge door, and guided him through the motions of unlocking and opening the door via exaggerated gesticulation.
Sad and bittersweet; I liked it.
a moment sketched.