a_c_v_whitfield_28428

The bus depot’s fluorescent lights could wait. Andrew pushed open the heavy oak door of The Crown and Anchor with the practiced ease of a man who had made this detour a ritual, the brass handle cool a

The bus depot sat three streets away, a grimy brick box where Andrew spent his nights checking schedules and sipping lukewarm vending-machine fizzy cans. His shift started at eleven. It was ten-forty,

The bus depot was a twenty-minute walk from his flat, and Andrew had long ago perfected the art of leaving exactly early enough to stop at The Crown and Anchor for a quiet drink before his shift. Not