the telephone on the chest of drawers in the hall buzzes, pick it up out of habit. The message says
"ur anus is near the moon tonight". Is this a threat? an insult? no it is the astronomy app. leave it on the sideboard, still attached to it's red cord.
The warmth in the bedroom is welcome, sort out some fresh underpants and socks, and dress, and turn on the computer.
No new news, Donald in Denial, Bibi in a panic, Boris hoping for manna, Angela trying to keep the federation in line, and Emanuel with his racist cops to worry about.
Facebbook has all the friends getting worked up about cruelty to canines and felines or showing cute pictures of either or both. Nothing happening there.
The wife is snoring again, a sure sign that she will wake up later complaining of not having slept.
Cat claws clutch the black denim clad knees, testing to see whether it is possible to jump. It is, she does, stroke the tawny fur to elicit a purr. It is Saturday morning, it is late. But why not be relaxed.
There is no need to go to work today.
Clear the table, take the spray can of polish, spray a coating over the table, wipe it dry with the duster.
That is something dealt with that had been long thought about.
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