Thursday
The basking blue glow of the television's screen set against a backdrop of noise created by the bleating of an alarm clock both combine to wake the person up out of bed and the specific convergence of both devices creates an almost imperceptible fissure on the otherwise clean sheet of a new day. From this tear, sunlight floods inward, bedward, and the person smiles at the natural reprieve provided.
Lost between the gold medal first place champion of Friday and the pock-marked face and sallow cheeks of Wednesday, this poor weekday is often overlooked. This links it with Tuesday in that both are trapped in a blissful cage of neutrality, allowed to float unnoticed between a good high and a bad low.
An ebon faun, an ivory feline, a single blade of green grass.
A parched throat tickling with the invisible wool of a not-yet-happened cough begs for a splash of anything liquid to wetten its dryness. Clumsy wording.
Only the most traditional of Pizza parlours offer their greatest of deals: a pitcher of lager at half the usual price! A banner hangs, tattered on its edges: Thirsty Thursday.
We wet our throats with the liquid promise of an upcoming weekend, those two jewels ensconced in so much excrement and dailiness.
The fore-echo of a thunderous cough.
