Afternoon. Lonely breakfast tearing up my palate. Back to work today, after a lovely day off spent with the best of friends. Sundays feel like an eternity in that place. Long day, Sunday. Fine day, Sunday. No post on Sunday. Sleepy, still. Even the cacti are still yawning. Lazy chainsmoking keeping me occupied. Machine humming dueling the silence and winning. Wistfulness the only feeling. I've not yet made a sound.