you're still browsing the books when i come back in from the garden. "peppermint or chamomile?" i ask, basket of flowers and leaves in hand. you answer and as i walk through to the kitchen i say, "put your feet up."
you intend to just perch politely on the armchair but as soon as your back meets the plump cushions you sink back and sigh. you feel the fire warm your feet as you listen to me pottering about the kitchen. to your right you see a small table with a record player on it and a basket of vinyls underneath.
"feel free to put a record on," i call out. you pull the basket out and begin to flick through.
you intend to just perch politely on the armchair but as soon as your back meets the plump cushions you sink back and sigh. you feel the fire warm your feet as you listen to me pottering about the kitchen. to your right you see a small table with a record player on it and a basket of vinyls underneath.
"feel free to put a record on," i call out. you pull the basket out and begin to flick through.
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