Sunday morning, long warm shower and I dress up my loneliness, keep it warm with soft merino wool, glam it up with golden clover leaves. I look around for the appropriate canvas tote, shake off a leftover carrot top from last week’s farmer's market. Sling the bag over my shoulder, feel it dig in, I never knew that emptiness could feel so heavy. On my way up to the high street I notice an old couple holding hands as nonchalantly as I hold my tall flat white, whole milk, one pump of sugar-free vanilla. I wander around the vintage shops for quite some time, browse through trinkets, old vinyl, and yellow books, end up leaving without a single thing. Memories are expensive and inflation is at a 40-year high.