The cold makes my body rigid. Leaving my bed to begin the day when the flat is so chill, is tough. I walk out wearing layer upon layer of woollens, only to see wandering-home students, coatless in T-shirts and tiny shorts.
I dreamt I restored his daughter to life. It was something to do with his sketchbook. There was some sort of key there that only I saw. The family were overjoyed. As they would be.
