Last night was a succession of unexpected events that led to a late evenings or even early morning meeting at the artists place. This was pleasant, there was a saxophone player there too and jokes were told and wine and similar things consumed.
This morning started badly, but so what.
It is Sunday, a day for slow starts or church. Opt for the slow start, it is cold outside, and it is cold outside the bed. The icy little room has a single ineffective heater that probably swallows more electricity than the rest of the house. But only when it is on.
The day is grey and cold, and misery is easy. There is very small comfort in anything now. There is an invitation to meet people at the cinema, and there is a small job to be done at the Christmas market next weekend. And that is all.
Perhaps a walkabout would be in order, a chance to see what, if anything at all, is happening in the town. Maybe this will function as something to alleviate the depressions.
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