always missing deadlines

Warmth was the answer before, but that was just the result of movement. It didn’t mean anything, but it still felt good and was therefore perilous. When he made his toast it was logical. A spoon was a better tool for the job of scooping and spreading jam but she couldn’t kill him with one. He’d thought of everything. It was just like he knew it. He could talk forever about it. For these reasons she liked it better when they went out for breakfast. They could feel superior together, laugh at the Sunday morning drinkers who had to keep it going.