Morning. The city is waking up. The ever present sounds of construction somewhere. An electric saw, someone hammering. I sit, drowsy with sleep and a dream of grey snakes, and sift through my ever growing collection of found objects. Here I am with a small portion of it.
What opposites Ernestine and I are. I wonder if there can be any hope for us. When we parted yesterday after our luncheon, just as well really as I did have a bit of a backlash from those beans, she blew me a kiss as the bus whisked her away. Was it just a friendly kiss? It's impossible to say with her, she gives so little away. She is my Aoede and my song is the song of the city and the detritus it sheds from its shaggy hide as it rumbles along.