Sunday, December 6, 2009
Around 8:30, and we are having breakfast at home, the restaurants are all still closed. Ned is clean
and smells like a forest. He clears the dishes of the table in t shirt and underwear.
We speak about last night, the friend we met for dinner, the conversation we had.
Light is falling, warm and golden, through the bathroom window.
I can't quite think in words just yet.
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