she tells us again the story of when she met her husband, the story of when the naughty teenagers ran through her garden, the story of the bats, the story of when he was called up during the war. most of the objects in her house are older than me.
I buy a scone because they say 'vegan' and I don't see that word very often in cafes. I don't really have any room for the scone. I eat it and it is delicious. My too-full stomach panics and I continue eating.
a pigeon wandering about on next door's flat roof, which sparkles with thick frost and ice. another silhouetted on the street lamp down the road, all misty greys behind it. a third in the eucalyptus, the tree's bark hanging down like burnt shredded skin.