It was a damp mourning for a funeral, so I was glad I didn’t have one to go to.
Especially my own.
Sea Czar City can get like that in November.
The fog horning in off the harbour.
The gulls tricking the fish with their silence.
I wasn’t feeling young.
I wasn’t feeling anyone.
There was room for a toid in my bones.
Helen Wheels, my preceptionist, wasn’t in the office yet.
My only comfort was a carton of coffee from the Dump And Grind and a new Phillip Friday thriller.
The title was: “The Big Creep”.