Last night was a success.
The Snow fell gently into the night and by the morning covered the tired pavements in a shiny fur coat, glistening and fresh. Coming home on a december Sunday, sheepish to offend its sanctity. Perfection.
The building is alive. A buzzing hive of familial affairs in the run up to Christmas, and I, in own cocoon, boil a ketle on the hob to wake me from my partial slumber. Mmm the coffee tastes bitter.
What will I write today?
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