He mapped out his life with razors, putting an ordnance survey across his arm
“Helps me find the way home,” he said
“In the dark, the scars are like a Braille A to Z”
I asked about street names, but he declined to comment, instead focusing on a new paring knife
“This was from the cutlers in town. I’m going to use it for the side roads. Easier to control, see”
After that night I didn’t see him in the pub. I wonder if he’d only gone in because he was lost?