During my lunch break I got a knock on the door. It was the postman: the weather was dismal, it was raining quite hard, and his face was barely visible from underneath the hood of his waterproof jacket. He gave me a brief look.
P.: “Hello!”
Me: “Hi.”
P.: “Élena or Eléna?”
Me: “The second.”
P. (giving me a package; looking at my tee with Robert Smith’s face): “Great choice! Have you been?..”
Me: “...at the concert? Not yet.”
P.: “But you should! Tuesday’s grey and Wednesday too!”
Me: “Thursday doesn’t even start—at least, properly.”
He greeted me, and I shut the door. I’ve been singing the song inside my head since then.
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