THE LAST SHIFT

Danny switched on the kitchen light and peered at the clock on the wall above the cooker. It was 5.10am, the middle of Winter and two hours before the central heating came on. Butch opened one bloodshot eye, gave Danny a token wag, sighed and settled down again in his basket. He wouldn't budge until there was a chance of a titbit or two around seven thirty. The calendar on the wall above Butch's doggy bed had a red ring around today's date, the eighteenth of December, two thousand and fifteen. On the work top sat Danny's battered flask, washed and sterilized and his snap tin containing his lovingly wrapped favourite snap, hand-cut ham and mustard on thick white bread. Janice had prepared these for him last thing last night, as she had done for the past forty two years. Danny switched on the kettle and stared through the kitchen window at the dark morning. Droplets of rain slid down the glass and the cold darkness stared back at him, completely oblivious to the enormity of the coming day. He filled his flask, packed his haversack, put on his coat and looked round at Butch as he opened the back door. He was now snoring gently and just as oblivious. Danny's pride and joy sat on the drive looking cold and lonely, but immediately flashed two bright orange smiles at him as he pressed the key fob. They were soon on their way through the sleeping estate, taking all too familiar turns to an all too familiar destination. He switched on the radio and settled into his thirty minute journey with Radio Leeds to keep him company.