the many pretty lamps in many pretty homes in the red building
the big bookshelf on the third floor
the two top left windows of the yellow building, the lights are almost always on and the light is pretty
the red car of the owner of the Indian restaurant
the tiny snowplough that lives underground
the ugly blue containers full of whatever is used to build a nice new wall
the tarp is gone. now they’re just drilling holes through my wall, unintentionally, but it happens nonetheless. so far I’ve counted seven holes, all almost fixed, but not quite.
sure you have many more rooms than I do, you probably have a really nice view too (nice houses, a lake, the sea, a forest), but I really like my room, I prefer parked cars to moving cars, I prefer living in the city, not around the city. (and well, if I could, I probably wouldn’t live in the city, but living in the city makes life without a car much easier. my feet are my public transport. all of this little city is my home now. or the part within walking distance, at least.)
London. just when Wednesday has turned into a Thursday here, I’ll go and walk to the bus that takes me to the airport. I’ll write you when I come back.