I spend most of the morning drinking coffee by the fireplace and reading ‘The Collected Writings of Joe Brainard” (The Library of America, 2013). Sunday morning, in a blue chair in front of the fire, a blue book with yellow stars in my hands. My feet resting on the fireplace. I move them when they get too hot. They get too hot from resting on the fireplace so I slide them to a cooler spot but soon enough they get hot and I need to move them again. I’m comfortable though, the heat from the fire and the heat from the coffee meeting up deep within my body. I’m waking up and warming up and reading Joe Brainard’s collected writing. The curtains are drawn, by which I mean they are closed. I can’t see out the window but I know it’s snowing. Knowing this somehow makes me feel warmer, repositioning my feet yet again. From the kitchen Allison asks if I want some tea biscuits to go alongside my coffee and my Joe Brainard and I say, yes. Allison asks if I want jam on one of the tea biscuits and I say, yes. Allison appears with two tea biscuits (blueberry with strawberry jam, apples & cinnamon without jam). I ask if she’d fill up my coffee and she says, yes. She returns with the pot and tops up my cup and says, anything else? and I say, a kiss. She leans over kisses me lightly because neither of us have brushed our teeth and she says I taste like coffee. And then she’s gone and I hear the shower start and I’m left alone with Joe. Then Donkin sighs heavily, reminding me he’s there, lying on the couch, head resting on the yellow pillow.