Curious, that
There is an empty book of matches on the balcony, and I'm watching the cars pass by. Blowing out steam makes for a poor way to entertain myself, though the
steam appears thicker, jelly-like here due to some strange sense of stillness this place has. Even the air feels much colder on this side of the street tonight. A
glance around. It has been another year, but this place remains unchanged through its passage. Come to think of it, I believe it would remain through a
thousand years as it is now. The bouquet of leaves on the table, still brownish-orange, as if about to fall apart at any moment; the porcelain cat balanced
precariously atop one of the monitors; the mannequin without either eyes or legs, still managing to appear more like me in my clothes than even I do! Even
the bed looks as though its heavy canopy shall collapse onto itself and vanish out of existence entirely when you aren't looking -- but it's still there, the lot of it,
as it has been for what seems like forever. The only thing not constant to this picture is an occasional car, as seen through the withered window glass,
passing by on a neighbouring street. The faceless strangers walk on, busily attending to their daily routines. They seem alive and animated enough to make
one think that even the microbes populating their skin move ten times as fast as those that call mine home. But I'm a product of my environment, sitting here
and watching cars pass by, occasionally glancing at the empty book of matches that has been there for years.
steam appears thicker, jelly-like here due to some strange sense of stillness this place has. Even the air feels much colder on this side of the street tonight. A
glance around. It has been another year, but this place remains unchanged through its passage. Come to think of it, I believe it would remain through a
thousand years as it is now. The bouquet of leaves on the table, still brownish-orange, as if about to fall apart at any moment; the porcelain cat balanced
precariously atop one of the monitors; the mannequin without either eyes or legs, still managing to appear more like me in my clothes than even I do! Even
the bed looks as though its heavy canopy shall collapse onto itself and vanish out of existence entirely when you aren't looking -- but it's still there, the lot of it,
as it has been for what seems like forever. The only thing not constant to this picture is an occasional car, as seen through the withered window glass,
passing by on a neighbouring street. The faceless strangers walk on, busily attending to their daily routines. They seem alive and animated enough to make
one think that even the microbes populating their skin move ten times as fast as those that call mine home. But I'm a product of my environment, sitting here
and watching cars pass by, occasionally glancing at the empty book of matches that has been there for years.