Quite and Nobody's News

Outside was fairly light and nice today. I had a fresh cup of steaming brown for breakfast and I might make another soon.

I saw Tom in the city last week. He had his hair in a bun and wore a "No Planet!" t-shirt. He had a bundle of St. Kilda cakes in a shopping bag too.

"I'm going to sit on top of a building at Southgate and eat these cakes," he answered.

"No thanks. I've got pressing concerns," I replied.

At the stroke of ten thirty-five A.M, I appeared almost as if by magic at the café — my visible entrance through the doors betrayed me — and sat down opposite Harry for luncheon.

"Henry is still in denial," he told. "And I's still over the moon in love with my local market employess."

"Wear the tails," I instructed.

"A bit too fat," he added.

Next up was afternoon tea at the best afternoon tea room in the land.

"It brings out the leaves," said one.

"It strangles the leaves," said I.

"A better album has seldom been heard," said both.

And of course the phone call.

"We will be it, you hear? We will destroy them. I hate..." said the phone.

"Yes, but have you..." I said.

"Monday."

And finally.

"I took this at..." he said.

"Yes, but why?" I asked.

"It stank."

What a nice day! But it's not over yet.