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on any normal day they were crammed into the lifts from dawn to dusk.
    He pressed the call button and waited nervously. He could hear the cables rattling in the shaft although it gave him no indication of how long it would be before a car empty enough for him to squeeze into arrived. On the first night, he had waited fifteen minutes before a car with room in it came. It was almost comical. The lift doors opened four times to reveal a car full of wrinklies staring at him with inane grins on their faces, barely an inch between them. The third time that the doors opened, he was positive that the same geriatrics were just cruising up and down for fun. They all looked alike, blue rinses and grey comb-overs. He had taken to using the stairs since but today his hangover had stolen his energy. As he pondered walking, the bell dinged. The doors opened to reveal an empty car. Relieved, he stepped in and pressed the button for the ground floor.
    The reception area was dull, cramped and full of shadows. Tod peered around before stepping out of the lift. There were three armchairs on either side of the reception desk, each had a sleeping pensioner on them but apart from that, there was no one around. He put on his shades and walked confidently across the marble tiles heading for the revolving doors which led out onto the streets of the Old Town. The warmth of the sun was still bearable. It was early and that side of the hotel was in the shade in the morning. An hour later, the sun would be so intense that he wouldn’t be able to move far away from the pool unless he chose to sit inside in the air-conditioned recreational areas of the hotel. That would mean watching the other residents enjoying their daily activities, waltzing, playing bridge, bingo, sleeping and dribbling. He couldn’t bring himself to do that, even as an observer. He would stay on his sunbed and use the pool to regulate his temperature but first, he needed some food and the newspapers. The newspapers were important. Vital to keeping his sanity. Well almost.
    It was a short walk across the town hall park to the cobbled lanes of the Old Town. Local school children were rattling down the paths on their skateboards, the smell of fresh cut grass was in the air. Flowers every colour of the rainbow were still in bloom and their fragrance drifted on the warm breeze. At the far side of the park, he crossed on a zebra, which the local drivers ignored. He was convinced that the Spanish were taught to speed up wherever there was a marked crossing especially if a pasty faced tourist was on it. He bought twenty Marlboro from a tobacconist shop that he had found on his first day and then went next door to buy the British papers. The Mirror, The Mail and The Express. They would keep him going most of the day. He barely glanced at the front pages as he paid for them; his focus was on the smell of bacon, which was drifting from the café next door. He weaved his way between a myriad of Day-Glo rubber rings that hung from the ceiling and an assortment of inflated killer whales, dolphins and crocodiles before stepping over a basket full of bucket and spade sets to get to an empty table. He was pleased that his favourite table was free. He had sat there every morning since his arrival and being a creature of habit, he had become attached to it.
    “Back again?” a Scottish accent asked with a chuckle. The man had served him every day so far. His name was Gordon and he and his partner, Gordon owned the café. Gordon and Gordon were a gay couple, who had emigrated to the sunshine a few years before. They made much of the fact that were the ‘Gay Gordons’, which they explained at length was a Scottish country dance group in the nineteenth century. They were like a comedy double-act. ‘I’m Gordon,’ one would say, ‘and I’m Gordon too,’ the other would add with a chuckle. “We must be doing something right with the food or is it my charming personality that brings you