You have the locker code saved on your phone and your car is fifty metres away with a full tank. A man near the bench is holding supermarket flowers and keeps trying to load a hospital page that will not open out here. A woman standing on her own keeps going back to the timetable poster and looking for Carrow Bridge, which is half an hour north and the wrong way for you. The taxi the operator has authorised will take four of the nine. Dorrie is under the shelter with two others, and she has seen you and has not asked you for anything.
Three Seats, Half Past Eleven