how i try to make sadness beautiful and laugh

A coach gets fired. The bus stops coming after 7. A thick down jacket when it's 8 degrees outside. I'm here because I want to be here. I write here because I want to write here. Sadness. The stories I'm reading nowadays. While having dinner in my kitchen table two thoughts, two thick thoughts came to me: That my father will not live long; and that all the while I was with Yukie I was a very very weak person. As usual, arising from these thoughts are thoughts about moving to Vancouver, thoughts about having my own place so I can play the role of myself, and all the while I'm saying this, I feel so superficial it's not funny. Like this, I move a step forward, pull myself a step back.

The blue lights across the street look warm. They hover. They dangle along the railing that leads up the steps to the pedestal. Even the top is decorated with lights. No bus stops over there anymore. The next bus comes very early in the morning, so early that, I suppose, a bus will pass by my house while I'm still in bed.