Window Shopping

It's late; a long day in the office. As ever, I turn left out of the train station and hurry past the little parade of shops, keen to get home, get warm, get some supper. The window of the charity shop is full of bric-a-brac that I scan habitually, always on the look out for something deemed superfluous, redundant in one life that might come in handy in mine. I spot it, sitting back from the glare of the street lamps, on the left hand side of the main window and its presence strikes me as so very sad; a primary-coloured mug with the words 'World's Best Dad' filling its exterior surface.

As I make my way up the hill, I consider what might have led to that mug being discarded, and I feel a keen sense of loss.