Details I'd have forgotten or accepted in passing, impress themselves just in case I need them tomorrow when I write of today as yesterday.
Yesterday, neighbour's Mum and eldest Son argued long into the evening. He left the house in a slamming rush and she hurried after him. She must have got him for their raised voices came again, indistinct of word but the very music of rages and frustration.
Eschewing shades I brazened my black-eye, forging through the tourists at the Sunday market on the way to a short painting session. Sunday is a busy day at the studio.
Different folk paint at different times and I hear comings and goings, activities and unknown voices from studio doors set ajar I know only as locked fast in the week.
Neighbour MadMog slinked in for a bit of peace, to purr at me all the pussy-cat news. On R&R from the war next door.