|PHOTO PROMPT © Janet Webb|
I saw him under the bridge arranging his belongings. It was my walking route where the final stretch took me under the arches and up the steps leading to my office. He tipped his hat politely and resumed sorting his possessions.
Every day I’d meander by the river bank making my way through the park. Stopping only to take photos and the mandatory uploads to Facebook. He was now a permanent occupant curled up under the bridge with his worldly goods in a trolley.
I never saw him after the flood, just some lurking flotsam and jetsam in the water.
Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100
I do disembark from the bus and take a walk by the river each morning. The route does take me under a bridge but that is where reality ends and fiction takes over. The title a nod to a story by one of my favourite writers Somerset Maugham.
To walk on the river bank with other writers this week click here.