The sound of an engine outside, stuttering, stalling. Then it passes.

I cannot get warm. I follow the sun from window to window, curled like a cat and wrapped in two of his sweaters.

My body craves protein and fat. Fuck vegetables. Their time will come. Give me beef stew and bacon and eggs and ice cream and chili. I want dairy, meat, and broth, though beans and nuts will do. Potatoes are okay, too.

The engine again outside. So loud. So cold.

Hot chocolate. Cookies. Lasagne. Sleep.