There is something about this place.
I've been staring at slides that consist of merely a title and a picture, trying to decipher the blobs/colour/occasional arrow into useful information I was supposed to absorb while the lecturer talked us through his art some months ago. Futile task. When it's time to let go for the night I reach the library doors and realise it's raining and will rain all the way home. The gate is wet, slippery and cold, and my bag shifts my weight annoyingly as I climb over. My hair is wet and falls over my eyes. But I drop down to the other side, the streets are silent and mine (and the foxes'), the droplets drum their heartbeat against my hood. The more I walk, the night feels less cold and more cool, and I like the imprints I leave behind me on the damp pavement.
The road is glittering in the lamplight as the rain hits it, but, but, my alarm is set for 07:30 and I have to close my eyes.
The road is glittering in the lamplight as the rain hits it, but, but, my alarm is set for 07:30 and I have to close my eyes.