Five

Hellfire. It's five in the morning and I need to do an airport run. The car tells me it's -5 degrees. My phone tells me I have five new messages. 

It's going to be one of those days is it.  

Sitting here waiting for the windscreen to clear, there's not a soul anywhere to be seen. Not even a cat or a fox. If I'm the last person left alive on the planet, I'm putting a brick through the shop window at the end of the street and taking all of their sandwiches - and that will only be the beginning of the raid.  

Another car goes past at the end of the street. Maybe I'll just buy some breakfast at the other end instead.  

One thing I have noticed about getting up stupid early is that I'm quite in the mood for writing. I'm wondering if I got up at five tomorrow morning and sat down for a couple of hours, whether I'd get much done. I should probably try it but being as I normally go to bed about two, right now it sounds horrible.

With a couple of hours under the belt, by the time it got to seven or eight, maybe I would even feel like I had done everything that was important for the day. Damn, If I put my mind to it, if I did two hours, I could probably hit the gym afterwards and get home before the world even demanded my attention.

What could I write in two hours? A couple of thousand words on a good day? I'm not sure - I've never sat down and logged it. I don't think I'd want to either. I might not get the answer I was looking for. I guess if the morning looked like being a disaster, I could always head back to bed and forget I'd ever gotten up in the first place.

i wrote this much in ten minutes. Maybe it's worth thinking about. 

Airport beckons.