Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

Zöe Beck windows on the upper floor. Nothing moved behind the curtains. I shifted my gaze up to the dark blue sky, which never really turned black this time of year. Somewhere, the seagulls were screeching. A pigeon landed on the roof. The cat gallopped past me. I went back into the house. morning, someone was standing in my kitchen, arms crossed. He was looking around warily, and I stared back even more suspiciously. “Is there any coffee in here, I hope?” he asked, motionless. I didn’t move an inch, though I was ready tomake a run for it if he grabbed one of the kitchen knives. The next

Staying deliberately calm in order to not rile him up, I asked the same things anyone else would have asked: Who are you, what are you doing here, how’d you get in, what do you want from me? He simply groaned, rolled his eyes, and exhaled. With arms still folded across his chest, he finally looked at me and said: “I’m Flann.” As if it were obvious and I was an idiot. “Who?” I sounded suitably idiotic. “Flann, from next door. The old man is dead, and I have to go somewhere. It’s boring over there. May I now have a cup of coffee?” I returned upstairs to my bedroom, closed the curtains, and climbed back into bed.

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