It is a Crisp, Shiny Day

6.45am I am awake. It is a bright, sunshiny, get things done kind of day. Warm. Crisp. Fresh. The sunshine is bright on my balcony door windows, my cracked open eye spies over the top of the doona.

I roll over and am looking at the mull bowl on the floor next to my bed and not the bedside clock. I have lost my orientation to the room, 20 degrees. On one level, I hate that, but on some other level, it is exciting, thrilling, that realignment.

Still, now I'm here. The universe is telling me, it couldn't be much clearer than that. Hands in the air.

I’d smoke a joint and cum by the time Shane got in the shower to go to work at, by my bedside clock, 9.09. Well, I just roll over and stare at the ceiling. What else is a boy to do when he is bored?

It is hot sitting on the balcony in blinding, what I would call “holiday light,” you know that sunshine, when you go to the tropics, on that very first morning. It is like that out there now. It is.

I listen to the punters walking to working, smoking a spliff. There is a gentle breeze.

At 9.25 Shane leaves the house.

At 9.26, I decide to go fetch some muesli. Make coffee. Oh yes, coffee. I’m like a puppy wagging its tail when it first sees you, at the thought of my first coffee.

I start writing on the kitchen bench, as the coffee pot hisses.

It is a crisp, shiny day. Sun light fills the garden.