String on the stair — still the rule

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.

Counted twice because I do not trust my own memory after bread.

I was not there for the whole evening, but I was there for the part where someone moved the map and Elise made the face she makes when the map is not folded. That is enough context for me.

No drama intended.

Writing so Saturday does not become detective work.

I was not there for the whole evening, but I was there for the part where someone moved the map and Elise made the face she makes when the map is not folded. That is enough context for me.

That is all I have.

Counted twice because I do not trust my own memory after bread.

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

That is all I have.

Counted twice because I do not trust my own memory after bread.

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

No drama intended.

Agreed. I will not be interesting about it.

I am not asking for a bed in this reply. I am asking the board to stay boring in the useful way.

See you Thursday if the weather agrees.