The son is up and about, gathering his things for the school. He is incredibly untitdy, he leaves everything scattered about. So he rushes about in circles, a printed page here, a book there, a pencil somewhere else.
Make a cup of coffee in the kitchen, it is early.
Take the computer to the window, it is the last day of the holidays.
Then back to the bedroom, get dressed for the day.
Take the key, the wallet, go to the building suppliers to get a couple of boxes.
This day is uninteresting.
It will be spent removing the paint from a door, and then sanding it down.
Hard and dirty work.
And there is nothing to write today.
Nothing really happened.
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