Am not such a big fan of morning hours at the bank,
sweating in line under wool coats and scarves, all tired and stoney from the
night before, on the receiving end of suspicious glares from old lady tellers,
trying to recall one of dozens of PIN numbers
which are misplaced somewhere in the mess of a faulty memory.
I much prefer spend mornings sitting by a window
reading the news and sipping coffee until I turn pale green.