His name was Tony

His name was Tony, 48 years old, he came from another estate nearby, dropped his dog off at his mums not saying where he was going, came straight to ours, walked or took the lift up to the 8th floor, took his jacket off, climbed onto the bottle green rail...

That's what Mr Grey, chairman of our tenant's association said.

Earlier yesterday morning, two young boys said their mum said it was the man who rode the bike.

"Rides the bike and is always wearing headphones?" I asked. He's got a head full of grey and white hair. I always smile at him and he smiles back but rarely a word; a quiet man but loads of us are quiet here, it doesn't mean anything.

"Yes," said the boys.

The sadness I felt was so profound thinking it was him even though I don't really know him. Now I know it's probably not him, I hope I bump into him again soon so I know for sure.

Oh why did you do it Tony? Dad at school said his sister heard a thud but had no idea it was you and later heard wracking sobs from outside her flat on the first floor and looked out to see three of your mates, quite big and burly the dad told me, not the sort to cry just standing there sob sob sobbing for you.

Some of us have left you flowers. Someone's put out candles in the form of a crucifix.

I told the dad and some others that if you were someone from somewhere else you might have come to us because it's a good place to jump from. They looked at me, said how could I say that. Your estate's low rise isn't it? You must've really wanted to go.

I know how it feels to be so sick and tired of something. I also know how it feels to think death is the only answer. I hope you're in a good space Tony. My thoughts go out to you and also the people who are really missing you right now.