Day 25: Friday Afternoon, November
A vignette of sorts.
The street is empty, except for a rattling beer can. We have finally gotten the usual fall weather, with high winds and rain coming down in sheets. I did not think that I would miss it, but it feels strangely soothing. Like things are right with the world.
The wind whips my coat, but I do not want to close it. The chill clears my head. After a few moments sanity returns an I do close it. For one thing it is too wet for that viking stuff.
It is five in the afternoon, and it is already as dark as it it going to get. Ragged clouds are being dragged through the heavens. Nothing seems to be stirring. If it wasn't for the lights in the houses' windows, the whole town might have just up and left.
Then the spell is broken, and I meet the man with the dog. He is an old guy, skinny with a cap and big horn-rimmed glasses. I see him often enough, but I never feel like saying hello. That is because of that dog. It is a small foxterrier, and I'm sure it would be cute under other circumstances. It growls. It always growls and lunges at everything. Me, children playing, passing cars.bIt seems like the little mutt has decided that the world around it is only good for sinking its teeth into. The old man has that look that says “what's gotten into you today?” As if the dog behaves like a little canine angel on any other day.
I avoid being chewed on, and the illusion that the world has stopped returns. I very much enjoy the empy streets and the sight of the rain as it falls through the street lamps' light.
Over the drone of rain on asphalt there is a wounded bird sound, plaintive and repetitive. A sign from the department of public works moans with every gust of wind.
A small footpath between two houses, and I'm in the supermarket parking lot. I look at the perfect view above my head. Clouds unbound by laws, like it says in the songs. I weave in between the parkeked cars. One is bright yellow with a black Chinese-style dragon on the side. Here a middle-aged couple is arguing in a Slavic language.
The doors to the supermarket open, and the light is like a Kübler-Ross near-death experience. I walk into the light to get bread, milk, and chips.
The street is empty, except for a rattling beer can. We have finally gotten the usual fall weather, with high winds and rain coming down in sheets. I did not think that I would miss it, but it feels strangely soothing. Like things are right with the world.
The wind whips my coat, but I do not want to close it. The chill clears my head. After a few moments sanity returns an I do close it. For one thing it is too wet for that viking stuff.
It is five in the afternoon, and it is already as dark as it it going to get. Ragged clouds are being dragged through the heavens. Nothing seems to be stirring. If it wasn't for the lights in the houses' windows, the whole town might have just up and left.
Then the spell is broken, and I meet the man with the dog. He is an old guy, skinny with a cap and big horn-rimmed glasses. I see him often enough, but I never feel like saying hello. That is because of that dog. It is a small foxterrier, and I'm sure it would be cute under other circumstances. It growls. It always growls and lunges at everything. Me, children playing, passing cars.bIt seems like the little mutt has decided that the world around it is only good for sinking its teeth into. The old man has that look that says “what's gotten into you today?” As if the dog behaves like a little canine angel on any other day.
I avoid being chewed on, and the illusion that the world has stopped returns. I very much enjoy the empy streets and the sight of the rain as it falls through the street lamps' light.
Over the drone of rain on asphalt there is a wounded bird sound, plaintive and repetitive. A sign from the department of public works moans with every gust of wind.
A small footpath between two houses, and I'm in the supermarket parking lot. I look at the perfect view above my head. Clouds unbound by laws, like it says in the songs. I weave in between the parkeked cars. One is bright yellow with a black Chinese-style dragon on the side. Here a middle-aged couple is arguing in a Slavic language.
The doors to the supermarket open, and the light is like a Kübler-Ross near-death experience. I walk into the light to get bread, milk, and chips.