Marscapone

my hands curl around the flimsy plastic folds of my shopping bag

as I walk home through streets tight and winding. 

it is a sunny morning, 

crisp and clear,

and magic. 

the mornings are misty, 

cold and dark. 

my head hurts as I haul myself out of bed, 

put on clothes that clearly don't go well together, 

and set off through the fog of dawn.