nearly morning
Nearly Morning. Sunday, we walked in a street where rich people live, big houses, swimming pools and well kept gardens. We paced the whole length and where not thronged by people, we didn’t see any; nor cars and agreed, if we got into money we would buy a house here, but I didn’t voice my unease that something was missing. In the night she woke me and said: “if we had money I wouldn’t like to live there after all, would you?” “No, love, we would be very lonely there, it’s a necropolis for the wealthy.” What’s necro something? “A city for the dead,” darling. “Why don’t you say so, have you been dipping into the dictionary again?” “Sorry love, it’s nearly morning, do you want a cup of tea.” “Yes, and toast, with sugar-free blueberry jam on, no butter.”
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