And where was I, 4 am this morning?

Idling gently past her driveway. Upon which, of course, there were no unknown, nor even foreign cars. I remembered Lowell and his own madness, each blood cell sobbing. Whereas I simply went home, buttering my toast to my overloud, yet always ferocious quartets. And so it was I was rather unprepared and overexcited in my investigations, entering the kitchen to greet Gareth with a wheeze, and faking, too, a little asthma. This allowed me to mutter something about exercise and fitness whereupon Gareth, to my delight, poured my coffee and said there was, indeed, a sharpness in the air. While I can imagine him not making any mention of badminton, it is rare for Gareth not to place himself in the centre of any gambit, and even more unusual to hear of the weather. Clearly, he was avoiding any link between himself and Colin and so, by default, the conspiracy was confirmed. I took my coffee to my room, aching for a little negative consolation, but instead, heaved my shoulder to the wheel and read up, from a fifty year edition, on the pathology that is homosexuality.