It was a quiet day with nothing extraordinary having happened yet or likely to happen before darkness consumed the land, but still he sat uncomfortably in his chair. He read the paper without taking anything in. Something hung, imminent, above him, but he could not determine precisely what. A feeling of incredible unease, like a dark cloud above a fete, continued to spoil his day. By five o’clock in the afternoon he decided  to be proactive and go out – to face the ominous portent head on.

  Despite the sun beginning to set, the high-street was significantly brighter than his apartment, a positive dichotomy to the cold womb he called home. Shopkeeps busied themselves at their respective windows, adjusting displays or tugging at shutters. The world was turning in, calling it a day. The hustle was bidding the bustle adieu, another hard slog ahead of them tomorrow.

  Up ahead of our hero a couple are walking with a slightly faster pace, a hushed conversation on their lips. He watches them, wondering why they are so muted. He jingles the change in his pocket against his keys, to give some audio to the scene. They bear off down a side street ahead and when he catches up and looks after them he sees, twenty metres down the alley, the man has his woman pressed up against a wall, locked in a passionate kiss, desperate almost. As if it were their last.

  Who knows he thinks, perhaps it is.


~ by Joseph Blame on July 31, 2010.

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