Well, once you extrapolate it, you're of the same demographic, and it is the busiest shopping day of the year. He flattened it slightly, one of those days where it seems like a Generation Game conveyor belt brings a string of tenuously-linked ex-people. Or now people, Or next people. Once is nice, twice is refreshing, third you begin to analyse. You're in a soap, and in any given episode, everyone that lives on the Square Street Close seems to come into the shop for a card gift book. My, today of all days, of all 365 days today is the one we all needa card book gift in order for us to gather like swarming beasts as though something is going to happen, or some force whirls us together. With them it's the writers, with us, the world.
Why do these people come into our lives? Our habitual or best friends seem to colour our pages on a permanent if patchy basis. The tone is kept sweet, topped up intermittenty, some times very internittmently (work, ills, geography). The guests of yesterday seem to drop dabs of pigment on a previously wet space, drips blotting and filtering, adding extra intention, diversity, and sometimes tangential brightness. You don't fit, you don't mean the sky or the earth, the birds or the picnic, but you add to my picture.