Food and Warmth

The usual Friday night deal. We ate. The fire crackled. We smoked pot. No sooner had I smelt Mat's warm, milky smell, with my face against his chest, than I was out like a light. On him. No, really on his chest. He had to move me carefully, come out from under my spell, so to speak. Crawl out. Arrange me delicately on the couch, taking up all the space, a dead weight.

I was held in my boyfriend's arms, my very favourite place to be.

Mat played games on his own, as I snored face down, rather indelicately across the furniture.

We stayed up until 3am. It was 4am by the time I got to bed.

Ah, Friday nights, the one night when every other night can just fade away, Friday nights stand on their own. There is no other night like them. There is nothing to do for the longest time at any other time in the week. Friday night is nobody's night. Nobody should be making demands; nobody should have any expectations. As the sun sets Friday evening, there is loveliness for everybody. Oh yes there is.

Just food and warmth, that is all that matters. Food and warmth.