Chair angle — Levi wrote it down

This is not a speech and not a vote. It is the shape of an evening when the canal looked like wet stone and everyone pretended they had not been standing in the doorway listening. The rule did not change because someone was tired of explaining it. It changed once, in March, and we are not resetting that world because a new bed finds the ditch inconvenient. I will not reply to every thank-you. I will notice if the kettle is on the cellar stair again.

If you disagree, say it before Friday twenty minutes, or write mail. A thread that grows on Saturday without a note becomes a rumour, and Sander will read the rumour as bread. I will not reply to every thank-you. I will notice if the kettle is on the cellar stair again.

Someone will ask again in a week. The answer will have the same shape: read the paper, read the board, write two lines if you need a bed, and do not invent a meeting that was only rain.

I read this walking out to the path. My boots are on the step. Green pair. If they are in your way, move them one metre, not into the long room. See you Thursday if the weather agrees.