Move Back to Brighton 6

Marty has the brightest orange socks. He tells me, unnecessarily, Flixy bought them. His feet are very small. I don't like that he messaged saying he was coming to pick some stuff up, so not to be worried if I heard strange noises downstairs; that implies I would automatically be upstairs in my attic. No. He is there for some leads, chargers and records, he tells me. I nearly reply, 'We do not wish to hear this, kindly leave the stage', which, Ken told me, they used to sing during auditions at the BBC in the nineteen sixties. I still fantasise about Ken's niece, Naomi, ringing to tell me probate has gone through so I can now have his flat. 'Or the cash equivalent.' Confused WhatsApp from Kristian saying sorry (I had messaged him saying he is not to smoke - I saw some photos on his Instagram) but he was put onto work yesterday, and it's thirteen hours door to door delivering parcels. 'Not so sure about this...' One of his routes takes him directly past his ex's front door. 'Good'. Good…