Cold

A crow cries out from an overhead tree branch. I look up and it repeats its call. It’s cold, I can see its breath.

Siesta

I walk down to the post office at around 4:00. The sun is straight out in front of me, sinking toward its sunset. The clouds are parting or they’re just starting to gather and they’re burning yellow, red, orange, or white. I finish at the post office, go back out, and wander off to find someplace to read. I return home after it’s dark. I sit at my desk and start working again. When I notice that it’s late and that I’m still staring at the little laptop screen, I stop and change the desktop to the color that the clouds were at 4:00.

Unmoved

I took a quick peek inside the first studio and — because there was a couple making out in the corner — I passed it by. I wandered into the next studio and immediately came face-to-face with a man wearing a patch over one eye and a monocle in the other. I didn’t stare long enough to judge whether he was kidding, but I suppose there’s a certain logic there. The monocle had dropped from the man’s eye by the time I finished a circuit of the room.

I exited, passing the first studio again. There was a group of three or four socializing just inside and a girl sitting alone in the spot where the couple had been before.