Today I had lunch on the bench outside Clifton Library. I was joined by the accordion player from The Mall, who wheeled the squeaky trolley with his accordion case up to the bench, nodded, sat down and had lunch with me in silence. He looked French.
I imagined a film where a detective takes his lunchbreak three times on the three consecutive days of a murder investigation, stepping out of his police station to have lunch on a bench with this same man.
They eat in silence each time except the last, when the case is nearing its conclusion.
"You seem troubled, my friend," says the accordion player.
"It's nothing I can't handle," replies the policeman. He nods once, thoughtfully, and leaves.
As he steps back into the mayhem of his police station, we hear the accordion begin to play.
