I walked an insane amount today, stupidly and impractically and along this strange route that, now I think of it, makes it look like I was trying to shake someone off my back, but then that isn't it at all. What is it is my nose. Walking on a road, any road, is assuming stranger proportions all the time but nothing, nothing I tell you, nothing beats today. I looked down suddenly and my nose was in the way and then I was fascinated by how it pre-empted every step I was taking, and before I knew it I was at 8B and then home, and home was smelling of baby vomit, which I then found out was Horlicks spilled over the kitchen floor and mopped up inexpertly, and, basically, there is nothing much to write about today.

There's always a place in the sun but sometimes you're under the flyover and there's a kid trying to sell you agarbattis again, you know? These city metaphors will be the death of me.