The inside of the house is colder than the outside. Nuanced no? Lol. Woke up with imposed silence, whitening cracking corners of the mouth that had to be cajoled, Niveaed into compliance. Eyes hurt without contacts. Lessons learnt from yesterday: Never order Massimo cups of hot chocolate because ancestors did not train moi for drinking out of bathtubs. Also petition Karachi government to construct places where one can sit and while away time without having to dish out currency, specially the new crackling, tangy 20 rupee notes. Flitwicks’s lower lip hangs lower and lower with every new bout of petrol filling. Deleted all application shortcuts abhi.

How un-Sunday like. Sundays are meant to be saunas of timelessness. With Johnson’s baby oil on body, white towels, steamy wood and oodles of rich conditioner splattered into ends of hair. Haven’t even got around to the newspapers yet. I like TFT, Books and Authors and bus. Made double breakfast for myself that vaporized into apprehension molecules in sight of the wounds on Papa’s forehead. I love critiquing them as human but I really don’t need material proof of it thank you.

Maheen gets married today. All twined in mehndi that dropped into biryani and water glasses last night, she moves today five minutes away from home with the same air of class three. I’m glad to have made it.

Italicized words generate a high.