Friday notes — thin and true

I am writing this because the hall keeps a shorter version of friday notes — thin and true than the one I lived through. If you only heard it at the table after bread, you might think nothing happened. Something did.

Nothing here is a shop. Not the jars, not the apples, not the boats, not my time. Ask with your name on the day you mean it.

If this helped, you do not need to thank me. Put the thing back where the next person expects it.

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.

See you Thursday if the weather agrees.

Writing so Saturday does not become detective work.

I am not asking for a bed in this reply. I am asking the board to stay boring in the useful way.

Mail if it is a bed question.

Bulb off. Key on the nail. I checked.

I am not asking for a bed in this reply. I am asking the board to stay boring in the useful way.

No drama intended.

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

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.

Mail if it is a bed question.

Bulb off. Key on the nail. I checked.

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

No drama intended.

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.