Sweet Dreams

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He is thirty-seven years old, with a high forehead, and thin hair that stands on end in the slightest breeze. His eyes are a little protuberant, and his lips are set in a faint smile, so that as he leans forward against the wheel, gazing straight ahead through the windshield, he seems to be waiting for the green light with eagerness.

In fact the light has been green for some time already.

Howard Baker (this is his name) is sitting in front of a green light waiting for a green light because he is thinking. He is wondering:

— whether he is adequately insured;

— whether it’s Hornsey Lane he is about to enter on the other side of Highgate Hill, or whether he has confused Highgate Hill with Highgate West Hill once again;

— whether life might really be coming to an end, as ecologists say;

— whether he should kiss Rose, the wife of the man he is on his way to see, when she opens the front door to him;

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