Between April and May is another month. The few who know its name write it in the margins of an old book or paint it amidst graffiti on a shop wall. If you say the word as the last second of April ticks away, you will live a month that others will never see. Watch for its name.
There’s a tunnel south of Doncaster, whose walls are covered in graffiti. As you train rattles past, you might be able to read one. All of them are written by the dead. They may tell you something you want to know. Or something you do not. It is your choice whether you look.