Today, a seasonal blip in an otherwise unseasonable winter, cold, and not so much the cold as the wind that tears up the sand from dry roads, spews grit into your face, eyes, turning your back to it circles and finds you again, another direction for this assault, it's only today, and yesterday, but tomorrow it will be fine.
Only it's today, and the library is filled with the homeless and their backpacks, sleeping bags, and every one of them is talking to their welfare case worker on their cell-phone, updating them as to their job search, housing applications, etc.
And so I bear it for an hour, but these voices, loud attempts at being quiet, it's maddening and you can't blame them, you can't be outside in this, but - I can't be here either.
Buy time at a quiet café, then head home to finish my book, 150 pages left, it's a masterpiece for sure, but I'll review it when I'm done.