sunday

Countless mugs of tea. Half a banana. No blueberry muffin. Stood on the rugby pitch, not understanding, for an hour and froze with the icy, sunny wind whistling through the holes in my top. Watched the whippet eat grass. Watched the whippet lick cold tea from a cold mug. Watched the whippet play games with a sleeve. Wished momentarily to be a whippet. An hour later watched an iceberg and people who lived for icebergs talk about icebergs and how the crunch and grind is the iceberg floating south, and after twenty minutes even Werner Herzog’s voice, when talking about icebergs, bored me. Ate the best roast ever.