By Aine Meehan
He was what dad called a runner for O’Connor’s newsagents, and I believe (although it might not be true) that he lived above the shop, with boxes of out-of-date Christmas cards, amid old lamp shades, porcelain, and Sellotape.
Dad called him “slow,” which I never understood. He was speedy, in brown flared slacks and dirty white sneakers, using some secret portal to appear with messages and parcels in random shops, streets, and corners of town.
I hadn’t seen him in years, the shop is long boarded up, but I swear I saw him last week, smaller, but as fast as ever.
What a lovely picture this paints and well done on using so few words to paint it!
Thanks Helen. First time doing something like this so your kind words mean a lot.
Nice imagery… well told…kudos…keep writing…