Boots on step — not a transcript

This is not a speech and not a vote. It is the shape of an evening when the canal looked like wet stone and everyone pretended they had not been standing in the doorway listening.

If you disagree, say it before Friday twenty minutes, or write mail. A thread that grows on Saturday without a note becomes a rumour, and Sander will read the rumour as bread.

I will not reply to every thank-you. I will notice if the kettle is on the cellar stair again.

Same rule as last month. Still the rule.

The orchard is wet. The barrow is where Lena said. I did not improve either situation.

No drama intended.

Same rule as last month. Still the rule.

Train was late. Bus was not. I still made Friday. Thin and true beats a calendar of maybes.

Mail if it is a bed question.

Agreed. I will not be interesting about it.

My boots are on the step. Green pair. If they are in your way, move them one metre, not into the long room.

Mail if it is a bed question.