Bridge middle — is not a meeting

I am writing this because the hall keeps a shorter version of bridge middle — is not a meeting than the one I lived through. If you only heard it at the table after bread, you might think nothing happened. Something did.

If you disagree, say it before Friday twenty minutes, or write mail. A thread that grows on Saturday without a note becomes a rumour, and Sander will read the rumour as bread.

Same thread next month if needed. Until then: boots, paper, mail, Friday.

Bulb off. Key on the nail. I checked.

My boots are on the step. Green pair. If they are in your way, move them one metre, not into the long room.

That is all I have.

Same rule as last month. Still the rule.

My boots are on the step. Green pair. If they are in your way, move them one metre, not into the long room.

That is all I have.

I tied it back. Same cleat I found.

Train was late. Bus was not. I still made Friday. Thin and true beats a calendar of maybes.

See you Thursday if the weather agrees.

Writing so Saturday does not become detective work.

I was not there for the whole evening, but I was there for the part where someone moved the map and Elise made the face she makes when the map is not folded. That is enough context for me.

See you Thursday if the weather agrees.