Beyond dusk once more. Training ones own ability to tell the current time from listening to the chatter and music and noises of the tired yet still awake neighbourhood, the sound of dishes and late dinners and bottles and the opening, closing of balcony doors, to the street, to the backyards, to the darkness that feels like just floating in with the wind once more, embracing, indifferent, here because it just has to be this way. Sunday evening rituals. Sunday evening mood. The usual flow. Have a soft night wherever you are.
Moist roofs steamy windows and a glaring bright light. Bicycles of school kids in between houses and crossroads, a fierce dispute behind walls again. Filing what filled the early day, leaving some notes to future selves again. With that gut feeling of knowing which things will pop up once more, for sure.