You know how you spend ages trying to forget about or get over mistakes you've made, and then three crop up at once? Thoughts collide inside your head - I could have played it differently; what it would have been like if I had? how should I handle the situation now; what do I even say? - making it ever so hard to focus.
There is a hobo living in the library. He has dreadlocks down to there and he walks around in bare feet. Not socks, but bare feet. He looks in his late twenties, but maybe the beard makes him look older, and he sits alone. It makes me wonder who he is and where are his shoes?
Today has not been a very productive day and my back aches.
On the jukebox: Newton Faulkner ~ Foundations
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