weofodthignen | D.O.P.-T.

December came in with howling gales and on and off cold rain like being doused from a bucket. Old Guy worked all night with me as janitor and bodyguard, so I turned off the door alarm as soon as we'd done the shift change, because the wind was constantly banging the door and setting it off. The parking sign had been moved back from the kerb so it wouldn't blow over, so during the first part of the night we also had a row of enormous pick-ups in front of the store despite having only one customer watching movies, plus every once in a while a particularly strong gust would slam the sign into the store window. Fortunately it didn't break. We didn't sell much except for one customer who braved the storm to buy lingerie. Luckily the buses were running this morning—it was still windy, but no longer apocalyptic—and I picked my way home through tree debris, and found the plastic plate from Ms Bella's breakfast yesterday had been blown to the top of the drive. Her dinner was still sitting there uneaten, so I added a new breakfast to the same dish to weight it down some more. I hope she found a dry place from which she will emerge to eat.

D.O.P.-T.

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