Coats on hooks — thin and true

This is not a speech and not a vote. It is the shape of an evening when the canal looked like wet stone and everyone pretended they had not been standing in the doorway listening.

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.

I will not reply to every thank-you. I will notice if the kettle is on the cellar stair again.

I read this walking out to the path.

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

See you Thursday if the weather agrees.

I read this walking out to the path.

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

Mail if it is a bed question.

I tied it back. Same cleat I found.

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

Mail if it is a bed question.

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.

No drama intended.

If it is not in Sara's note, it was on the step.

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

Mail if it is a bed question.