Angst in my Pants

Running around the house this morning looking for the best thing I've made in a long time to the sound of continued buzzing from my granny trolley.
It could be packed already. I can't remember. Buzz buzz buzz whine click. Click? What was the click? (I'm ignoring the whine). Annabel calls me her art guru but she has just landed a solo in NewYork and I am sweating my way to the station dragging a tartan and string contraption. Who has right of way? Sweaty old man dragging trolley or swaggering twentysomething listening to a popular beat combo? Watched "Howl" last night and found it unengaging. Sitting in the station watching a financial stability report and wondering whether to opt for redundancy. Too much responsibility.

Early

I have been told how to spot an expensive suit. There are many on the television. I am unshaven, tshirted, dirty.

Latte is creamy and warm.