Mrs Sherwood joined the travelling handyman, and his young dog, out on the back porch, tear stains still fresh on her cheek.
‘You look sad, Mrs,’ said Bob, taking a short swig of his whisky before offering the bottle to Mrs Sherwood.
‘Don’t you ever get sad, Bob?’ said Mrs Sherwood, politely refusing his offer.
‘I do, Mrs, but Mugwump here keeps me right, and I aint got time to mope, what with you and all me other customers up here.’
‘You’re a lucky man, Bob, do you know that?’ said Mrs Sherwood.
From the front of the house a car screeched angrily away, splintering the stale, suburban silence.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.