The Dark Interiors of Mysterious Spaceships

Summer ticks down. The bedsit runs out. Rain and heat. Staring at the sea from the windows at work. The morning starts off with rain and ends with rain. A cup of tea. The humming of the fridge. A mattress on the floor.
Dreams last night of being back in Worcester, a strange nervy euphoria, at the base of the London Road Hill. On the side of a building is painted the word 'Forres'.
Sometimes I think about Forres. I lived there from when I was 10 until 13. I used to be fascinated by imagining of the dark interiors of mysterious spaceships.
I have just broken the '3' on my laptop.
Entropy.
Fragments.
Reaching backwards for something made up.
A cup of tea.

Yesterday a friend wrote 'August is the Sunday of the year'