Friday, June 17, 2011

One on each knee, service and excluder.

1. She swaps her breakfast bar stool with the mother sitting on a kitchen chair so she can take a solemn pre-schooler on each knee. "I don't know what you do if you have three," she says.

2.  She isn't serving me, but seeing the sling and the sleeping baby, she picks up my dropped umbrella and offers me a small bag "So it doesn't get your shopping wet". She says of the dead-eyed man behind the counter: "He's got a new baby."
"Two months," he tells me, which explains the glazed expression and the swaying.

3. To put the draught sausage across the bottom of the door.

Disposal, winter scent and start again.

1. I hand over three broken laptops for recycling and walk home with nothing in my bag. 2. In our street somewhere, there is a winter-flower...