sometimes it's hard to even tell what time it is. It's also hard to imagine anyone ever wanted this thing in the first place, but I did lift it from a large and very furnished house up north so perhaps this was popular back then. Or maybe it was just a bad gift, there's really no way for me to tell the difference now.
I made it back to my little hovel before the light in the sky had faded completely, and crawled through the window and the deep shadows crisscrossing the empty room. I think this was once an office, or perhaps many offices, as the floors above this one are stocked with more desks, dead computers and chairs with wheeled feet than any one person could ever find a need for. Though I've found a measure of safety in this building so far, I'm ever cautious as I cross the room to the staircase. I creep near silently across the floor and mount the staircase, pressing my body close to the left wall all the way up the first two flights of stairs. The right side of those sets of stairs is weaker and sometimes it creaks when there's weight on it. No sense in announcing my presence after all, though I don't hear or smell the presence of anyone in my humble abode. My camp is set up on the third floor,near the escape steps that lead outside the building and to the ground. I was careful to build a barricade to the third floor entrance with rubble collected from the sixth and seventh floors and a few of those endless desks scattered about. There's only one intended entrance, masked by a large chunk of concrete that I push out of the way and crawl through each day. When I ascertain the third floor and my belongings appear untouched, I reach my hand back through to pull the concrete back over the tunnel of twisted desk and concrete chunks. A quick jog up the remaining flights to ensure the building is otherwise vacant, and it's finally safe for me to relax and eat something before crashing hard into dreamland. Welcome home.
I am not by nature one of those people who is fond of early mornings, who longs to hear the birds sing and see the sun rise. Personally, I'd shoot the birds and grab another couple of hours of sleep if I could. So when I stir at some painfully early hour the next morning, I'm bemused as to why. I can barely see the rays of the sun struggling through the dirty windowpane and the chill of dawn is still heavy in the air. I surrender another twenty seconds to the warmth of the blanket before I get up to investigate the window. Below me lies the same dark street as I left last night, three cars stand guarding the empty corner store opposite the office building, busted windows and missing door making them a sad lot of soldiers in a war that nobody won. There is no movement on the streets, and it's difficult to see a reason why I should be standing here instead of curling up under the blanket over there.It looks lonely, and I walk back to keep it company. Three steps from the nest of blankets I hear it again, a rough sliding sound slightly muffled by the barricade. There will definitely be no
I made it back to my little hovel before the light in the sky had faded completely, and crawled through the window and the deep shadows crisscrossing the empty room. I think this was once an office, or perhaps many offices, as the floors above this one are stocked with more desks, dead computers and chairs with wheeled feet than any one person could ever find a need for. Though I've found a measure of safety in this building so far, I'm ever cautious as I cross the room to the staircase. I creep near silently across the floor and mount the staircase, pressing my body close to the left wall all the way up the first two flights of stairs. The right side of those sets of stairs is weaker and sometimes it creaks when there's weight on it. No sense in announcing my presence after all, though I don't hear or smell the presence of anyone in my humble abode. My camp is set up on the third floor,near the escape steps that lead outside the building and to the ground. I was careful to build a barricade to the third floor entrance with rubble collected from the sixth and seventh floors and a few of those endless desks scattered about. There's only one intended entrance, masked by a large chunk of concrete that I push out of the way and crawl through each day. When I ascertain the third floor and my belongings appear untouched, I reach my hand back through to pull the concrete back over the tunnel of twisted desk and concrete chunks. A quick jog up the remaining flights to ensure the building is otherwise vacant, and it's finally safe for me to relax and eat something before crashing hard into dreamland. Welcome home.
I am not by nature one of those people who is fond of early mornings, who longs to hear the birds sing and see the sun rise. Personally, I'd shoot the birds and grab another couple of hours of sleep if I could. So when I stir at some painfully early hour the next morning, I'm bemused as to why. I can barely see the rays of the sun struggling through the dirty windowpane and the chill of dawn is still heavy in the air. I surrender another twenty seconds to the warmth of the blanket before I get up to investigate the window. Below me lies the same dark street as I left last night, three cars stand guarding the empty corner store opposite the office building, busted windows and missing door making them a sad lot of soldiers in a war that nobody won. There is no movement on the streets, and it's difficult to see a reason why I should be standing here instead of curling up under the blanket over there.It looks lonely, and I walk back to keep it company. Three steps from the nest of blankets I hear it again, a rough sliding sound slightly muffled by the barricade. There will definitely be no
