military man

 Today was badly spent doing little other than reading, and taking a short walk about town. The morning was frustrating, there is nothing and nobody to wake for. The temptation is just to stay in bed. There is no coffee for the Bialetti machine, start the day with an Espresso. The cat demands ingress, then demands food. She wanders about a bit, she complains, and then she wants the door opened so that she may leave.

At midday, the above mentioned walk about town. There is no point in visiting the usual supermarket in the Mall, they are being reconstructed. Go to the coffee shop and buy a simple blend. The woman grinds it and then closes the bag with adhesive tape. All are perfectly friendly.

Wander down to the river, and enjoy the sunlight. Eventually a man from the municipality comes by and asks people to leave the benches as they want to drive a street sweeper past. This causes flying pebbles and some dust. Walk on home. At the church a man approaches and asks where a certain guest house is. Think about it and then guide him there. He turns out to be a Canadian, a military man who had been wounded in Afghanistan. He is talkative, and would like to continue the acquaintance, but no, decide to wander on back home. There is always the enhanced risk of a military person having views on life both dangerous and unwanted. This may be prejudice, but today is just too tiring for socialising.

At home, mooch about again, and then lie down for a couple of hours. 

This is a confluence of late nights and no company during the day other than the cat.