In a funk

It's raining. Pretty heavy, too. Rather cool, I can see my breath trailing out. I just fished two Kool cigarette remnants out of the ashtray and smoked them outside on the porch. There's straight lines of water slamming down on a small canister of roofing tar in the corner of the cast-metal wraparound. I'm slumped down on the concrete, against the whitewall. I haven't been able to really go to sleep, or sleep well, and have this migraine following me around. I'm going to make coffee soon. For now, I only want to wrap myself around a warm body. I could care less.