Journal: Morning Sun

There's a factory on the other side of the street. On top of that factory there's a piece of barrier tape fluttering in the morning sun. Every now and then a worker appears and vanishes again without leaving a trace.

I'm sitting in front of my desk browsing through old notebooks while listening to sentimental accordeon music. I rip a few pages and toss the crumbled paper into the trash. Meanwhile on the other side of the room there's a black cat snoozing peacefully while being curled up on an unihabited armchair.