The odd invoice arrived, followed by their reminders, and then not even them.
Direct debit arrangements handled most of the bills, including the maintenance charge on the apartment.
The guy who comes to read the electricity meter didn’t ring the doorbell, because he didn’t need to: the meter is in the basement.
The man lay in the bathroom doorway.
At some point the bathroom lamp gave up the ghost, as they do, and he was left in the dark.

Autumn came. Free newspapers and junk-mail continued to be forced bodily through the slit in the door.
One quiet day the weight of the collected mail and newspapers pushed open the inner door and the papers slithered down and spread out across the hall floor.
There was now space for more.
And then the silence continued.

@ Helsingen Sanomat

This timelapse account of the death of an urban hermit in Helsinki reminds me of Jim Crace’s novel Being Dead.