The coat arrived on a Wednesday, folded rather than dropped, which is how we knew it was not rubbish. It was a wool the colour of a wet hedge, with a button sewn in a different brown, and it sat on the third step as if it had an appointment. By Friday we had built three theories. By Sunday the theories had become a kind of care: someone shook it out, someone moved it an inch away from the banister so it would not be kicked. Nobody wore it. That would have been a different story. On the eighth day a person we had nodded to, but not known, came up the stairs with a face prepared for embarrassment and relief in equal measure. They did not explain. They did not need to. The step looked larger when the coat was gone.#
This is an excerpt. The complete piece is in the print and digital edition of Issue 03.