Instead of commuting to and drinking coffee in the office I travel to the ping pong table in the park near my place nigh every morning. Almost as if it became another room of my apartment.
Sleep is sick. I love Sleep.
The train makes its daily way from my bed to the sun. It's an express line, so it passes the clouds without stopping. The people there will have to wait on a local to get to work. I missed it this morning and I lay in bed and wonder what I'm going to do with this day of my life. I think about making coffee. I think about the swirling light on the walls from the wind and the leaves dancing around each other. I think that today is going to be nothing. It'll be smoke from the train engine. It'll be wheels pounding round and track stoically vibrating. It'll be breeze and birds and sunshine warming all of it. All of it.