TGIF

At least it's almost the weekend, we say, as if the days of the week mean anything, anymore. As if we will not carry on through the same routine tomorrow again, drinking too early in the daytime and scrambling to have accomplished anything at all by night. We'll be exchanging puzzles in the park, she announces. I'll wipe it down before I bring one home.

Outside the window, this imperative barrier visible only through the dust on its shield, spring beams and boasts with soaring temperatures and mild breezes. I long to go out into it, to run off whatever creaks and moans sit in my lungs I long for a short moment of freedom. It's hard to be an urbanite when you were raised by wolves.

But I guess everything's hard now. At least there's comfort in that.