The Fly

I saw an old couple sitting inside Costa, up against the window, they hadn’t spoken for the entire time they’d been there. The lady started rubbing and picking at a dead fly against the glass. I thought she’d look around, or at least at her husband, embarrassed, when she realised the fly was actually on the outside. But she didn’t, she took a tissue from her bag, dampened it with some spit and continued her attempt to remove the dead body from sight. Eventually, she gave up and went back to her small latte and cheese & ham panini, but every couple of minutes she’d stare at the fly and then glance around the coffee shop to see if anyone else was witnessing the Miraculous Immoveable House Fly. 

I often wonder if people know they’re being photographed? Do they know and not say anything? Or do they just not care?


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