194/365 03/04/2026

There was a brief moment—a Tuesday. Home from work, out of the car, house key in hand but not yet near the lock. On the porch, weather good, briefcase forgotten on the back seat. The idea of martini without any hassle of making one. And in that moment—for that one brief, glorious moment, Edmunt Glenfale wasn’t angry. 

It passed of course. Like a ghost wandering through him in the night. The brief, elated feeling: this ain’t bad.