I have seen two dead bodies in the last two days.

The first was a Deliveroo driver
lying in the middle of the road with his life leaking out his ears in slow, red streams. The traffic broke to swerve around him but ultimately everyone just looked pretty annoyed about being late to their 3 o’clocks. I couldn’t see much else from the window of my Uber but his open mouth, the shitty scattered Mexican someone had ordered for the afternoon and the emergency team lowering a stretcher and a long, white sheet.

Work has been stressful lately but that day when it got to 5.30 I thought,

Leave on time, you could be dying.

The second was a woman on her way to work
lying face down on the pavement, her tupperware container of last night’s leftovers spewing onto the street. By the time I got to the pedestrian crossing the ambulance had come and I pointed at the man in the emergency suit to cover her lace g-string as he lowered the stretcher to ankle height. Everyone stared because no one knew what to do. Here we were, all still tired from the weekend and complaining and now one of us was dead and the rest of us were not.

There is a romantic situation burgeoning but not everything has quite been said and when it got to 5.30 I thought,

Tell the person how you love them, you could be dying.

There isn’t a third but a friend's boyfriend committed suicide on Sunday. I had been watching their romance unfold from afar for the last two years; they shared a jack russell and flights home and two arms of tattoos. I am broken, she says. Please can everyone just be so kind to each other. There’s not much else left in the world that makes sense.

I keep having this dream that the last thing I say before I die is, ‘I’m so fucking tired’. I thought of this when it got to the afternoon, of what Rocky would say:

Sleep if you are tired. Eat if you are hungry. Call me if you’re lonely.

You never know. You could be dying and if you are, you would blink, it would happen, and then you would be gone.