“In the morning a man walks with his whole body; in the evening, only with his legs”

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Finishing work earlier this morning I took a taxi ride home with the Indian Tristan.  We spoke briefly and for the remainder of our journey we said nothing at all.  Pulling into the bus stop I thanked my driver and took the three flower arrangements and the one can of beer from the boot of the car.  Home at last, I sat alone in the cold kitchen and drank my one Spanish beer and smoked the last of four yellows from my crumpled pack.  The time said 02.35.  Tired, I climbed the stairs to my warm bed and my warm wife.

 * * *

The alarm woke me at 06.10 and I thought of snoozing for a few minutes more.

Gotta get up, gotta get out
Gotta get home before the morning comes . . .

Kissing wifey as I dressed for the return journey to work I told her I loved her and would see her later this afternoon.   I resumed smoking almost dead cigarettes, drinking chocolate coffee when the text arrived to tell me that my driver was outside. 

* * *

7 hours of work but not much to do, I’ll take a coffee and smoke a yellow, today’s morning is beautiful.

 * * *

 . . . and my life is too.

 

kornafookinrama . . . it seems i’ve swallowed a fookin’ self help book, with lots of positive thinking followed by positve action  eventually leading to self help suicide.

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