Morning brings other thoughts. All thoughts disappear. I am no longer sitting in the sun. My mobile phone, angled slightly sideways, straddles the line separating the table proper from its extension. A book on the Oulipo faces me much more directly, its title neatly underlined by the top edge of my monitor. I really should read it. Jack runs a service called Top Chop Tree Services. His card is green. His number is 0455 294 499. Beneath Jack’s card is a letter from my lawyers. I have yet to sign my will and pay the account. I know this already. I wonder if there is any point in opening letters anymore. I can imagine what they contain. I leave them unopened as reminders. All the fanciful places that no amount of lingering will lead me to. I have walked deserted Parisian streets. I have been ignored by touts. If only I could find some means of making sense of any of this. If only images could actually appear. Perhaps once the housework is done.

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