The coldest flat in Edinburgh.

I played poker again last night, this time with a
group of people I don't really know.
They seemed nice enough, but I felt a little shy, and tried to
concentrate on the game.

I suddenly realised it was freezing. Perishing. Bollock
Shatteringly Bitter.

It was weird, I looked around, and everyone else seemed to be OK.
No-one else had blue lips, and I was the only person to cry openly
when someone opened a window to have a fag.

I didn't want to leave, as I was beginning to win some money,
so instead, I started to play strip poker, but in reverse,
I began to put clothing on, my sweater, my big scarf, and my parker.
Which I wore with the hood up.

Not to look like a hood, but to stop my eyeballs
from turning into 2 scoops of optical sorbet.
I had never been that cold inside.
Fuck, I had never been that cold outside.

I had even stopped wanting to go for a pee, as if my body was saying:
Are you having a fucking laugh? In this cold?

So I started on the Whisky to warm up.

I woke up with all my clothes on including boots on the sofa at home.
With £185 stuffed into my pockets.

Excellent.
But that bloody cough is back.