Hanging Out Up The Block Saturday Morning
That glorious smell of the morning in the country, fresh, moist, alive, energetic, free. Woodsey. Eucalyptus. Damp.
I was up first, I’m always up first.
The two of us woke at some time in the night, the fire had died, we shuffled off to bed.
Nick was still in bed.
The fresh air cleared my head.
I made coffee, of course. The old coffee machine from Carlton still worked just fine. I’ve got to wonder sometimes why we buy new stuff. Still works perfectly well up here after all this time.
I made toast. Avocado, or tuna, on toast. “What do you fancy?”
“I don’t see this side of you much.”
“Preparing coffee and cooking toast. Oh, and squashing an avocado, not traditionally known for putting up resistance.”
“Domestic Josh, who knew.” “I’ll have one of everything.”
I was up first, I’m always up first.
The two of us woke at some time in the night, the fire had died, we shuffled off to bed.
Nick was still in bed.
The fresh air cleared my head.
I made coffee, of course. The old coffee machine from Carlton still worked just fine. I’ve got to wonder sometimes why we buy new stuff. Still works perfectly well up here after all this time.
I made toast. Avocado, or tuna, on toast. “What do you fancy?”
“I don’t see this side of you much.”
“Preparing coffee and cooking toast. Oh, and squashing an avocado, not traditionally known for putting up resistance.”
“Domestic Josh, who knew.” “I’ll have one of everything.”
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