I take the bus to the shops, walking quickly. If I can get my errand done and get back on the bus in an hour, the second ride is free.

The art store is picked over, like the carcass of a water buffalo. I run my fingers over the rack of pens, rattling them. No browns. The only felt tip fineliner they have is black, and .04.

I buy that, stuff it into my purse. Walking quickly.

There's an ambulance outside the store, electric yellow, blue lights flashing against the soap grey sky.

There, the huddle of people. I try to see what's happened. Two paramedics are on their knees: one is unfolding a reflective silver space blanket, the other is closing or opening her bag.

Legs. Fine black leather boots. Grey tweed skirt. Matching jacket. Fine black gloves. A shopping bag. Grey tissue-paper skin.

Her eyes, closed. I can see a sliver of white. Her mouth, slightly ajar. An incandescent line of red runs from her nose (her mouth?) and pools on the ground.

The pool of blood is big. Too big. There must be blood from somewhere else. How long was she laying there?

The paramedics roll her into the rescue position.

Walking fast.

The stationary store has brown pens, but I have to buy a whole pack. I brace myself, like I'm jumping off a cliff, and take the leap.

It's just money.

The pens go in my purse with the others.

At the grocery store I buy grapefruit juice, sparkling water, a vegetable quiche, and two hot chicken breasts.

The charity shop next door has a weird old camera in the window. I text my camera enthusiast friend, but he doesn't want it. Has one already, he says.

I eat a chicken breast while waiting for the bus.

When I get on and touch my pass, it reads: 0.00 deducted.

We ride past the art store.

The ambulance is gone.

I look for the pool of red, but there is only a faint smear of colour, like a slipping thumb print, and the dark surround, where someone has sluiced a bucket of water across it and washed the blood into the street.

I get off at the stop in front of the park, and eat my second chicken breast as I walk across it, slower this time.

A man throws a ball for a muddy white dog, ignoring the rain.

My hips ache.

.

Rosie.

Before&After