Bread after — blue tin

I am not Marek and I am not Lena. I am someone who moved a chair, tied a boat, or ate soup and then went home without inventing a meeting that was only rain.

If you disagree, say it before Friday twenty minutes, or write mail. A thread that grows on Saturday without a note becomes a rumour, and Sander will read the rumour as bread.

Same thread next month if needed. Until then: boots, paper, mail, Friday.

Agreed. I will not be interesting about it.

The orchard is wet. The barrow is where Lena said. I did not improve either situation.

That is all I have.

Counted twice because I do not trust my own memory after bread.

Train was late. Bus was not. I still made Friday. Thin and true beats a calendar of maybes.

Mail if it is a bed question.

Same rule as last month. Still the rule.

I was not there for the whole evening, but I was there for the part where someone moved the map and Elise made the face she makes when the map is not folded. That is enough context for me.

That is all I have.

I read this walking out to the path.

Train was late. Bus was not. I still made Friday. Thin and true beats a calendar of maybes.

That is all I have.

Counted twice because I do not trust my own memory after bread.

Train was late. Bus was not. I still made Friday. Thin and true beats a calendar of maybes.

No drama intended.