a poor companion for strangers

 Go move no.

This is the morning blues, things are not starting well today, and there may be a fear that they are going to end badly.

Go go get up, Make breakfast or something. Downstairs, pat the cat on the head, make coffee and poached eggs. The eyes are blurry and the head is whistling with the sound of slow firing neurons  and reserves of mental prowess lying fallow at this time hissing and thumping inside the head.

No, there was no drink taken. This is the normal stress laden way of things. The breakfast consumed, the news read, there is a terrible train accident in India and the Moldovian prime minister is similar in appearance to the German foreign minister. At first glances only. Sit down, lie down, get up. Go downstairs and take the bicycle, drive to the building suppliers and buy an apartment lock, a light one from Abus which looks just like the ones known as Yale. Gather things to talk about and walk on to the meeting in the café. Receive a pleasant welcome. Recieve an invitation to go up country in the weeks to come. That is nice, it is a curious change.

In the afternoon, spend time with the Brazilian painter, she is such beautiful and pleasant company. 

Then go home and fit the lock to the door of the small apartment. The son has his friends wandering about the house now, and trust is surely a poor companion for strangers.