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I'd always loved these shoes, but not tonight. I'd walked for ages looking for Larry. He really was impossible. No sense of direction or ambition. We needed to be at the undertakers for noon but he hadn't shown up. I had to pick the coffin, the furniture, that's what they call the brass handles and what colour the lining should be. I went for a papal shade of purple.

At 6pm I caught the bus home. At 7pm I called the police. A nice detective asked me about Larry. I told him all I knew which wasn't much. He was 5 foot 11 although he always said 6 foot. He had deep brown cow like eyes, I offered the detective a glass of milk but he declined. He had the sweetest smile. I cried a bit and he said he would try very hard to find Larry. Didn't tell him Larry was laying in the funeral parlour.

Story by:

Stella Turner

6 June 2014