A single drip of condensation trickled down the living room wall. Arthur shivered and cupped his pale hands around a mug of steaming, black coffee – Arthur detested black coffee, but the last of the milk had run out over two weeks ago.
By now the early-spring daffodils would be forcing their way between the tangled weeds of his allotment on Warring Rd. Arthur wanted nothing more than to be back there, tending to his beloved patch – but he knew if went out he’d never get back in. He was the only one left you see, and he had nowhere else to go.
These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.