  It always seems easier to write at the weekends. Time is more generously distributed in my direction. I don't have to rush like wildfire from my bed in a desperate battle to reach the bus. Today, I decided to take advantage of the bus-ride and scribble through the empty moments. 08.10am Today is yellow. A golden sun fills up every inch of space with heat and the heat is palpable and thick.
It's like moving through a caramel soup; delicious and sticky and impossible to rush. 08.30am Morning coffee. The air conditioning is broken in Starbucks. It does not make for happy customers. I on the other hand am carrying on with my caramel theme by indulging in an iced caramel latte. A yellow butterfly flutters past the window. The clouds in the sky are wispy and stretched, like gentle waves breaking on a beach. 12.30pm Lunchtime. An elderly, homeless man is standing opposite the place where I work, playing a guitar that possess not a single string. Dancing to the music in his head, a song with a silent melody. In this sweltering, blistering heat he stands there wrapped in a winter coat and jumper, apparently oblivious to his surroundings. 3 bags, perhaps containing all of his worldly possessions, sit beside him. How did he come to end up like that.
Where are the people to love him? The caramel from this morning has melted away it seems, into an imperceptible clear haze that gives an accent to how dehydrated everything is. Even the breeze is warm, I can't help but revel in the soup. 7.45pm The day is over, the sun is setting, the air is cooling. What a beautiful day. 
