Rain, more rain. Rain streaming down bricks along concrete, softening ground is like torture. That desire to run and embrace the liquid downpours doesn’t exist in me when my days are spent in England. No sun to appear and bake the wet dry.Time to become a winter person now. Not even a draw  of the curtain as behind the ivory haze a grey soft sky, only seen when hanging out of the window to smoke.  Why bother.
Tomorrow i will have a focus, a reason to get up, but for now i stare nowhere and tinker for stimulation. News, documentary’s, newspapers, trash. Dormant. I peeked back in march, but i can peak again tomorrow.
This time of no mans land i liken to a border crossing. A place of transition from one to the next, just one that has taken more than a sticker in a passport and a twenty-dollar administration charge. On the cusp of that nine while five. Back to my old life.
PinkyBinks 
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