A cold has been stalking me since Tuesday, and today it overcame my resistance. Feh. Fortunately, every plan I made for the weekend fell through so I’m not missing anything.
Lately I have noticed things falling apart. The hems of my favourite jeans are fraying. The paint on my kitchen cupboards is beginning to flake. With each day of rain, and there have been many, more of my red-girl-bicycle is consumed by rust. Time is slowly rendered visible, and, in time, it is everywhere you look.
It rained all day today. We enjoyed a brief reprieve on Friday afternoon, when the sun came through the windows of the Café and lifted our circles of smoke to the ceiling. By chance, we all accrued there, James and Arit and John and Bob and me, and for a few hours it was like it used to be, back when nobody worked and the Café was what we did in the afternoons.
I like how time becomes visible in people: the lines that form, the events remembered by scars. I like how the sun catches silver in women’s hair, and how men’s bodies angle under their clothes. I can’t understand why anyone would want to erase these things. What would be left?
The cats will sleep with me tonight. I won’t set the alarm.