100 Word Story

His 2CV bounced across the cobbles into the small market square. Shutters were closed in every direction, at all elevations. The mini-mart was shut until 330pm and the last of the market traders had long gone. Silence. In the corner of the square he glimpsed the flicker of a TV screen, high on a wall at the back of a bar. That’s where he headed to shelter from the sun. He walked in and as his eyes adjusted to the shade: un Ricard, s’il vous plait. He looked around; yep, this is where he would ‘go dark’ for a week.