Cold Friday Morning

It's cold. Buddy is in my lap. My friend is asleep on the couch, she has a bright red blanket over her, it looks like strawberry jam in the dim light. I've got Keith Richards playing in my ears, Crosseyed Heart. It is grey outside again, like winter has wiped its last tentacles over us. Buddy is keeping me warm. He stretches his head straight up in the air, I kiss his bulldog face.

Friday off. I'm back to having Thursdays and Fridays off. Apparently, the Tue, Wed, Thu every second week was just for a trial. Apparently, we can now ended it, if we chose. 

Yes, please. 

Lovely, back to normal hours. Two days in a row to myself. Keeps me sane. Apparently, I'm very quiet in the office. My last law firm taught me to keep my head down, otherwise you run the risk of getting it kicked off. You know, what drunk thugs might do to cats at 3am, buried up to their necks.

Always Fridays off, good old Friday. You've got to love something that comes last, is at the end, 'they' have normally got it right by then.