Grey day, outside. Looks like dead-centre winter becoming night time.
I can feel that I am overflowing with one of the first regular attempts at new life. Was it the spinach I ate? Insides trying desperately to escape, flushing themselves out from between my legs. Little bubbles falling out of me.
Feels like it might rain.
Door-knocking.
Sad glove-bandage curled up in a bed as I arrive back from too-skinny-legged, shorts-wearing, blue-jacketed, power-meter-reading, "have a top day!" Mister.
And a text from Johnny.
More bubbling through the legs.
Get up. Change yourself. Change.
Oh students, new household - why are you so routine? I don't like being alone. I want to be alone, but with company. Other pulses and bloods flowing through neighbouring brains and exchanging of ideas through the walls.
Curled up like a munchkin under a blanket. Trying to write warm things to be comfortable.
I'm living with someone I've never met. I have slept next door to a stranger.
Don't act so shocked.
And now, the other end.
Good morning.
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