Z (September)

It’s the end-of-the-evening letter. Bill Evans on the record player. It Might As Well Be Spring. The cats curled up upon the sofa. Sofa so good. Starless if the rain approacheth. Did anyone really go and wave? At the parade? At footballers? It’s the drowsing authorial-voice letter. Peter Porter going round in the head. The unfinished paragraph. Marcel Proust in his cork-lined room. Your Facebook friend is doing the washing. It’s the last-button-on-the-remote letter. The box-set of Downton Abbey. What is a weekend, asks Maggie Smith. As we drift off into the weekend. It’s the sleepy zone end-of-September letter: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz