  The City: it smells like pigeon poo, and it's busy, so busy it makes my eyes blurry and my throat dry. I wholeheartly wish my family didn't smoke. Lucas, Kurt, Phoebe, and I can only assume myself, are snoring at every possibility of unconciousness. Clothes smell smoky, I can feel it in my skin, and in my hair. Despite the discomfort both domestic and out-of-doors, it feels ok to be here. Phoebe and Lucas are sliding into life here as easily as a wet seal through a well buttered tube. Phoebe is very interested in stairs, and the other occupants of the house; if someone is inaccessible to her, she meows piteously, and demands entry.
She has her own special chair, and a perch on the landing, where she may observe everyone. On Tuesday, we stay at Kurt's parent's place for about a week. No smoke there, but I do feel antsy and peculiar about staying there. It's just me being silly, I'm sure. Nonetheless, my parents are the devil I know, and there's comfort there. More later. 
