Where are your friends?

London, early in the morning, another day goes by. As the sunset tries to reappear, the pouring rain drops as a curtain showing who is the majesty around here—a little chill but not too much, a cup of tea, of course, and cheers.

From my window, people pass by and walk fast to get to the underground. A "not so young anymore" lady, dressing in night shoes and walking noisily, she has a resemblance to an 80s entrepreneur, with long legs, a black skirt, a black jacket and a white shirt, makeup on, heavily.

I open the window, and there's a taste in the air, rough and thick as the rust of a boat pin, an atmosphere of uncertainty, but a promise of everything, a new day to live, to hope and to regret. 

A lesson to look for, a post-it from yesterday, and some notes that I left for myself.

I need something stronger, went to the kitchen, a coffee will be nice.

That reminds me that I have to buy some stuff today, everyday errands to keep ourselves busy and useful.

as the smoke of incense flies around the house, the sounds of an ambulance cut the mood and bring back an urgency of the daily work.

An old dust book, radio on the news, some phone calls, that's it for today.

Some connection to people outside, some mixed feelings about being a human in a society, some chocolate biscuits, please.

A tiny stream of sunlight hits my eye and suddenly I feel myself free.

Let's start the day.