![]() You go at your pace with the dough business, that matters. I enjoy this game I started with a stranger. I know nothing else about this man, but I think that sometimes he looks at me looking at him. A man, dressed in grey sweaters and a blue beanie hat, trains here most mornings – he throws punches in the air, a fog before his breath. Inside the playground, there are monkey bars. The dough crumbles, so does yours, but we keep kneading so we can patch things up, and we’ll give this dough another shape if needs be. Friends become families too, and sometimes they go on to making stepfamilies of their own. I push the dough with the palm of my hand, and it sticks to my skin. But I know where I stand and, reader, would you like to join me to shape a dough? You can pick a flour of your choice a recipe of your own. Families come sweary and happy and nasty stepfamilies, estranged children, I simply can’t know where her family is at. I don’t know if the woman is related to any of the children inside the park. Her dog runs with the kids inside the park children move in a disarticulated manner inside their fluffy overalls, the dog is fit and furious. A woman with hair the colour of plum stands before the gate, smoking cigarettes after cigarettes. Blood streams: I look at the playground outside of the window. I’m standing before our dining table in the living room because my kitchen is shaped like a corridor, too narrow for these kinds of cooking endeavours. I pour flour and a drizzle of olive oil, break an egg, separate white and yolk, work a dough. It’s never too late to make new traditions and, in December, I cook for and with anyone who also finds the expectation of spending time with family difficult. Ads, yearly roundups, the pace to evaluate how successful one’s year has been quickens, quick, faster – until last Saturday, when we woke up to snow in Glasgow, untouched and cotton-like. ![]() A stingy walk across the bridge, from frost to freezing temperatures, the sky so low and heavy nature preserves before the winter solstice, faster before humankind doings.
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