It’s a boring Sunday. Rain beats against my windscreen, my bonnet, my roof, like a thousand fingers drumming a monotonous, impatient rhythm against the glass and the metal. The clouds it falls from have cast a twilight over the whole day, but I think now it finally must be dusk, because the streetlights have switched themselves on and are casting an orange glaze over the dark blue tarmac, under the dark blue sky.

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let me tell you about my day – i don’t actually say this but I will tell – it’s nice to have someone to tell this to – i like coming home and there’s someone waiting and i tell him about my day – it’s a monologue of course – i tend to do that with conversations – i have so much to say – i go into minute detail – it’s unnecessary but he listens – patiently – you though i’ll tell you about my yesterday – it was a sunday (more…)