hiver

wrote another email yesterday. did a word count and saw it amounted to a thousand words, just written under an hour. that is your pace you guess, if you don’t put much thought into it, to blast, blast away without a care. toe on the side, looping indefinitely without knowing or caring which is which. of course, one has to wrap up at some point, but to end with, i am going to read kafka now is very abrupt. the thing arrived this morning, all soaked up in rain, so you teared it open after you agreed to get spaghetti at A’s place, bringing in a pile of books you said that you wanted to read. you didn’t even read anything there. you slept on the cold hard floor. it was raining. it was snowing, in fact, in other parts of the country, despite it being a month into spring. the mad weather. you sat at the side of the cafe waiting for the binding to be finished, submitted it, going through the breezing wind saying hello to brian while he tells you of his nineteen year old autistic son of how his mother left him how you had to take care of him. my hands are full, so you see him reflecting on his life, a mild expression on his face but it was raining you had to say goodbye adieu and brace again the cold weather.