Absolutely Mulled

Deep red in a cup. The cold air pushing steam into my nostrils. Vinegar and Cinnamon. Music of long forgotten musicians preach to me about how 'there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas.' A fact I'm sure they'll be eternally grateful for. I sit there in November annoyed at myself for indulging them with my presence. Cynical but merry. Secretly revelling in the cool warmth of the atmosphere.