Wednesday, November 28, 2012


Like the smell of coffee, residual memories cling to everything and everyone; faint reminders of all the things we're trying to forget.

Sunday, November 25, 2012


I'm distracted from scrutinising the lines on my face by the pigeon outside our bathroom window. He watches me strangely, cocking his head this way and that, examining my dental hygiene routine with his discerning eyes.

And then finally, he asks:
What are you doing?

I'm brushing my teeth, it's something we do.

He's unimpressed:

Well, we like to keep clean.

That's rubbish, he smirks and leaves me to wonder if he was talking about social constructs or...