Last Orders

It was Gold Cup week, and the residents were going to the races. The shelter would be quiet for a few days.

Jimmy Donaghue rang the bell; he was already too stewed to come in, and knew it.

‘I just want my kit, Robbie. Then I’ll be on my way.’

I went to his room and bagged up his stuff.

‘Thanks. That’s me gone.’

I watched as he faded away into the night.

Ten minutes later, the police called.

‘Do you have Donaghue staying? We fished him out the canal an hour ago. Can you come down and ID him?’