It is Saturday. I almost got off at the wrong stop, girding myself for the outflung and the shuffle. Phased and interrupting. Cha cha cha. But no, not that. It's Saturday. All bells are off.
Here I am now in this unchambered bucket, this overcast shadowless. I am trying to remember.
The dogs yip and snuffle, wanting in, wanting out. My heart is rubbery. There are funerals to attend.