Maybe I need a coat, I don't know.
Is it warm? Perhaps the waterproof will afford an extra degree of comfort.
I wear the waterproof.
I've no idea why I'm going to Broomhill, but that's where my legs are taking me.
As if an automata, my body performing the hollow activity defined by some long since still hand.
Strange are these moments when clarity is lost but movement persists.
The air is cool, almost cold.
I buy Bombay mix, chocolate, spicy crisps - better to be full and nauseous than empty.
The walk back passes leaves being blown into piles, damp leaves, already rotting, returning.
I remember that it was milk.
Milk.
That's why I went to the shop.
But being distracted by the cosmic microwave background, a deflating universe, a drop of pressure, I wandered.
To the paper shop then, they have milk, it's just a small diversion.
And as the rain starts to fall, my waterproof reveals itself to be adequate protection.
For official/internal use only:
5656
0-9
No comments:
Post a Comment