i think i'm beginning to understand what loneliness must be like: melted ice-cream left on a bench, no late phone call. only cornflakes and a newspaper for company, till you remember the potted plant.

i ain't friends-only.

i think clothes taste good. i packed in a chocolate-coloured turtleneck, and a couple of minutes back i found my scarf. it is tingly-soft and in two shades of wine. i unsuccessfully attempted to arrange it in some weak imitation of a tie, so i've wrapped it around my neck instead. i'm cold, i'm cold; warm me up.

it's raining. from here i can see the road outside. if i half-shut my eyes everything distorts and blackens, and all i can hear is a rustling sound, almost a crackle. ink whispers on cool nights.