He left the house, slice of toast clamped between his teeth, and speed-walked up the garden path as he attempted to tie his tie with marmalade-splattered hands.
On to the pavement and he glanced at his watch. He was seven minutes later than normal, but he might still make the train.
As he passed the parade of shops he checked again. He was only five minutes late now. He was going to make it.
The tile from the roof of the newsagent's fell and hit him on the head, making him very late indeed.
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