Mornings Making Life Worth the Trouble

A modest introduction into the brain followed by Zoe Keating and her cello and my quilted cats, expensive coffee, a single pickled egg, a copy of Lolita, and my errant co-defendant co-dependants breathing out bad breath on my blanket, purring, trilling and well lapped, whose bacterial emissions entangle with my own, creating weirdly intoxicating and slowly rising wafts of "thick, lipid-rich sweet sweat," which reminds me of my grandmother in her house dress doing dishes and humming Hank Williams in her yellow kitchen, while the gas unit hums out its own deep wafts, exhaling warm breath for me and the my spirited tres panochas. We have no need nor desire for travel.