Grocery at the Gates

I was welcomed by Mr K's joyful humming and the smell of detergent before my beneficiary opened the door, exposing a wet floor and a mop leaning against the wall. Contrary to my assumption, Mr K wasn't in the middle of cleaning his flat. It was the day his cleaner was around, and Mr K, suffering from a lung disease, didn't find it easy to breathe the flowery detergent-scented air in. Everything seemed to happen on the same day for Mr K: shopping, cleaning - what else?

I told him not to worry about groceries, took the shopping list and cash, and then disappeared. Mr K's order was a standard one. After a couple of missions for him, I mastered running, locating the ordered goods in Waitrose, buying my own lunch, then dropping off the goods to Mr K and running back within the Friday lunch hour. Today was no different until, on the way back with the shopping, I faced a closed front door, which usually used to be open. Ringing Mr K's flat twice had no effect, so I called him and he asked the cleaner to let me in.

The lunchtime run to Mr K was something my legs and brain desperately needed after the morning of standing in front of my laptop screen. The fact that it didn't rain as I expected was a bonus. I didn't even dare to complain when I saw the sun come out just when I had to start work again.