unless it's fictions

i have a bit of a thing about kitchens at the moment. i think it's because i spend so much time cleaning mine.

The kitchen is a six-foot squared box of utilities James does not know how to use. He contemplates the science of it all; of ovens, kettles and tumble dryers. The unseen processes which occur within them to make them work, like a body. The image of his mother at the stove superimposes itself over the scene, stirring a saucepan which boils steamily at the closest hob. He marvels at her magic.

i am having fun in my life.