Fridge calling, I need comforting,
ease the door open hoping that interesting food has somehow jumped in there direct from the supermarket without my help.
Beer? I wish, nothing like that in here.
Rum and Raisin Ritter Sport, oh yes, "quadratisch, praktisch, gut" chocolate, slipping
under my tongue and teeth as I graze.
And there is the target, the chilled bottle, a feat of forward planning on my part to get the chardonnay cold ahead of drinking time.
Yes, oh yes, I can start to put the day behind me now; step out of my work persona and be, well be the nothing that I aspire to today.