A Linen Pillowcase
Forty euros, washed three times, and now I am unreasonable about it.
The place I come back to on slow afternoons, rainy days and when life is lifing too hard.
Forty euros, washed three times, and now I am unreasonable about it.
Chairs being pulled down, the espresso machine groaning awake, someone humming a song they think is private.
A 22-seat trattoria where the menu is a single piece of A4 and nothing on it is wrong.
Double espresso, splash of oat milk on the side. No sugar. Don't fight me on it.
A free-form tart for when strawberries are at their messiest and best — almond cream, butter pastry, no fuss.
It is not about exercise. It is about the seven minutes.