To have forgotten what is a weekend, against a background radiation of a tired so diffusely manifesting itself in my submerging the spoon under the surface of the tea, pouring it out, submerging it in again, trying to count how many days long into this return from sabbatical I have ventured, and to sense if the current is up or downstream.
Across the booth, some cavalcade of congresspeople, with perpetually shorn haircuts and lapel pins, back slap and carol themselves into a harmony of adult milkshakes.
