It's pretty late. It's much closer to Sunday morning's sun than I'm used to. This past month has been full of extra late nights and races home to make it to bed before first light. I've only been beaten once.

I like this. I like this quiet. Nothing much stirring here. An amplifier pushes Colin's lyrics into my living room.

...Oh what a rush of ripe élan
Languor on divans...

I don't even know what he means.

These early pieces of the day are pregnant with finer Later Ons. Later On feels like it will be grand. Later Today might very well be as productive as 4 o'clock feels peaceful. Most Everyone Sleeping means I'm not subject to my own Should Be Doings.