The weather is deliciously gloomy. We stand, coughing, in the smoky shop which sells rolls. It rains ferociously behind us. The rain water rolls of the umbrella onto my bare arms while we walk out of the store looking for an auto.

There is nothing particularly noteworthy about the evening, but I know I'll remember it later. In the memory categories in my head, this will come under non specific memories.

There is always a strange feeling at the bottom of my stomach on Sunday nights. Mostly impending Monday morning blues. It is, as of now, mercifully overpowered by the smell of food and the tingling feeling that comes with knowing that I'll look back at this stray memory in the future. And that it will make me smile.