The Grey Estates

I'm at Bridgehead right now, working. At least theoretically.

Occasionally practically too.

What I want to do, though, is to turn up Wolf Parade really loud, push my laptop back, put my head on the table, and cry.

It's a certain mood this one, a walled in place, where the only thing my body wants to do is fall forward, half bent, half bowed; all collapsed.

Been a while since I've walked these grounds, laid my hands on such sad inventions.

Here's hoping it's a short trip: then back across the border, a new world.

Just a minute away.