The wrong man

We don’t have much in common, you and I, said William, and closed the door carefully as he left.

Billy did not agree with him. They had their names, for a start, and their love of crustacea. The colour of the sky on a spring morning and that odd little bar on the Portuguese beach with the over-familiar owner. The fact neither of them objected to navy worn with black. The way they both lapsed into alliteration when there was a chill in the air.

He tried to tell William this, but his calls and emails and letters went unanswered.


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