From the Chaff
Sometimes on winter Sundays (or public holiday Monday equivalents) the sun goes down and I feel a sense of melancholy that another week of my life is over and now it's cold.
But if I then have a hot shower and dress in warm clothing, I feel a bit better.
The weekend, like the rye and linseed sourdough loaf I bought Saturday morning, lasted three days.
Nash attended all the parts worth remembering.
On Saturday morning we walked to Plant 4 at Bowden for coffee and a visit to the local bakery where said loaf was purchased.
Sunday Morning was our traditional family walk from the Weir to the North Adelaide Bakery for mini cream puff and coffee.
Sunday evening was spent catching up with Vanessa's family and Kelpie, eating Afghan food and answering trivial pursuit questions.
Monday was friends, NBA playoffs, double beef burgers and my first game of 500 for the decade.
As the night crept in and work emails started drafting themselves in my head, it's easy to see why I'll miss these days.
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The woman with the fake tan stepped into my office, sat across from my desk and lit a cigarette.
At least, she would, sometime in the next 20 minutes. Smelling the future has advantages, but precision isn’t one of them.