[ WP ] `` A warm liquid flowed through my fingers . ''

I pour the milk into the pot, and place it on the cooker. Wring the heat up. Seat myself down on the padded chair by the wall and close my eyes. I exhale and it feels like the first time of the whole day. 
 
 
 A lot of walking today, fast paced and all the time watching my shoes. Glimpse the moving legs of the others draw past and the daylight routinely fading until dusk and finally darkness takes hold of the streets. Trickier avoiding the open manholes and the rubbish and the loose cobblestones on the path. 
 
 Stopping at the red light and waiting together with the tram. The tram full of dull looking people with blank expressions and empty stares, people who deep down under the autumn coats are planning dinner or the laundry, with a Thursday last week and a Wednesday the week before all melting together in a grey soup of setting alarms, instant coffees and almost not clocking in on time. 
 
 More walking, along the stream and a lot of dogs running ahead of their owners or being waited for as they explore some empty rat hole where 
 some other dog had pissed. 
 
 Past the old school building where parents and students are forming large groups and their scarves slightly teased by the winds and the rain that is just starting to pick at us with pathetically wet beaks. Every morning walking here in the other direction, I look into the windows and the students are supporting their heads with their hands and already watching the clock slowly move it hands while they learn very important periods of history or algorithms or grammar and they have a test next week and it is a very important test. 
 
 When I walk in the other direction my hair is still wet from the shower and the workmen are carrying paint and ladders into the office building next door. Some cats are hanging around and the birds are watching, it is a nice day and I could almost sing to myself but I do not. I save effort for later, just the same as I delay my days off and look forward and dream of all the events that will unfold and compromised joys and surprises spring up, and that is when I will pull the lever to start the snorting bull of my effort only to see it has already run out weeks and years before and then I will know, it stole my passion also. 
 
 The milk is simmering now and I go to turn of the heat. I place a cup on the worktop and tip the pot to pour the milk. I tilt my head carefully to be able to accurately guess the path, but I miss, and a warm liquid flows through my fingers.
