I was fired from the hobby store. Diagnosed with tennis elbow. The rice I cooked lacked the fluffiness it had been famed for.
Every day for fourteen weeks I stood outside her window with a boom-box and played her favourite song. I knew that if she listened to it enough that she’d remember the good times, that she’d forgive me for all my horrible transgressions.
We’d danced to it the first night we met. I remember how she had playfully stolen my porkpie hat, gently whispering “ Ski-bi dibby dib yo da dub dub” into my ear, before kissing me on the eye.
It was her neighbour, old man McKinley, who broke the news to me.
She’d moved away some days before I started visiting with my Scatman tape.
There was a young family staying in her house, they’d only recently arrived in the country.