The News Seller

Callum is an old-fashioned man on the verge of becoming history’s memory Ancient even in that he holds only one job but that is for privation of another Sort of a whiz kid at what he does and his curriculum vitae very straight forward Has always been a paper boy since back in those days when news died slowly Now he is a dying breed a relic human dinosaur with only his own story to tell The world knocks shoves and hustles so fast that imminent bulletins are scoops Of retrograde disclosure post-modern exposes in a way and novel dispatch has Become past patching up for being mere documentation of what was long ago And yet Callum dispatches the news as he knows it with steps on the pavement Real paper dried ink broadsheet tabloid no power needed when the light goes out But a flickering candle to discern what is fake in current affairs and trite gossip During delivery he sometimes sits down for a cup of tea with a lonely subscriber Listens dispenses a kind word opens a can of worms with a grateful reader or A tin of baked beans when arthritic fingers have set in before a withering mind Mrs Heinz always gives him a tip and he dosses his cap like a scene from a script Outside her Victorian window traffic passes and time lines and engines combust Fast food delivery drones competing for air space have replaced carrier pigeons While she shares a ditty or two immersed in antiquity a fossil or outlandish curio Maybe nostalgia or reverence to a drift in her soul she remains steadfast to habit In due course she will not have a drive through funeral but a printed obituary Today’s editorial is a piece on paper recycling about how forests are planted And seeds can grow when given the right soil and why knowledge is vital not Only in passing on a screen or computer chips implanted under innocent skin It features Callum the near forgone conclusion and the threat of extinction and That Mrs Heinz is not a relinquished artefact but living proof of resistance Her lapdog appears from under a crotchet blanket and blinks through the mesh Oblivious to the web of intrigue and the crooked altar of modern global connect Releases an affectionate growl and licks Callum’s fingers smelling of sweet print The trio live in a parallel Universe as they converse in front of a grandfather clock While a wireless backs up the dialogue in real time and grants gifts of the present 13th 2019