But it is there, and full of cars moving about, and stores that have stuff I need to buy. So I went to the inexplicably still-open Kmart and bought a belt to keep my pants from falling down. I'm in between sizes. I can't squeeze into the pants with the 33 inch waist, and the pants with the 34 inch waist are always trying to sneak down and grab my ankles and trip me as I walk. I bought the belt to thwart their bizarre and malevolent plans. It is working. The pants still slide down a bit, but not far enough that I need to continually hike them back up.
There wasn't much I wanted on sale this week, and the stores were out of a couple of things that I would have bought, so I will have more money to spend next week. Kmart also gave me coupons worth a considerable amount more than I actually spent on the belt, which seems foolish of them, but gift horse/mouth, and anyway their store is in a town that really shouldn't exist, so I'll just think of it as a magical event. But I'll be making a couple more trips there this month. One of the coupons is for five dollars off the food I feed the feral cats, which will be handy.
It was another pleasantly balmy day in the inexplicable town, and tomorrow is expected to be pretty much the same. Again, the improbability of the whole thing puzzles me, as by now I'd be expecting at least a minor heat wave, but the forecast is all moderation. In the back of my mind is that little pessimistic voice saying it will all have to be paid for later on, but I don't feel like worrying about that now. I'm going to go make a sandwich and then watch English people murder one another on television.
Not for That City
by Charlotte Mew
Not for that city of the level sun, Its golden streets and glittering gates ablaze— The shadeless, sleepless city of white days, White nights, or nights and days that are as one— We weary, when all is said , all thought, all done. We strain our eyes beyond this dusk to see What, from the threshold of eternity We shall step into. No, I think we shun The splendour of that everlasting glare, The clamour of that never-ending song. And if for anything we greatly long, It is for some remote and quiet stair Which winds to silence and a space for sleep Too sound for waking and for dreams too deep.