two days before leaving

I'm not sure about the fabric I bought today. I'm not sure that I want a whole dress in it. It's not the sort of thing I would wear. But then after I've made it, maybe, (yes, everybody, I'm making a dress!) I could paint on it. Write on it. Paint it black.

I can imagine the fabric draped over the buildings in Dublin Street; that would be fantastic. I thought this as I walked back from the last flamenco class, where I told no-one it was my last. 'See you.' I changed a ten pound note for eight pound coins from a homeless guy. I said to hypothetical future friends, 'I only like giving money to beggars when they go 'oh tha's lovely yer a lovely girrul, have a nice night darrlin' ', which I can't really write properly, and which isn't completely true. And then I rolled the Scottish accent around in my mouth for a bit, and thought of how for me homeless guys have this accent, because Edinburgh is my first real experience of Britain. And then I thought how sad it is that I am leaving, Edinburgh, my first British town, with its buildings I can't quite come to terms with, and then I imagined my orange fabric draped over the building in front of me. And yet I am quite sick of Edinburgh. And this too is sad, when you think about it.