Day Ends
I walked the streets of New York. It was a cold day with nothing to look forward to. I wore a warm maroon scarf that held my attention and affection. I enjoyed the sensation of the cloth gripping firmly my neck. I would be out of this brisk evening shortly. The sun was setting but I had long since lost sight of the wheel behind rows of towers.
It was a forgettable Monday. One that rubs you with an impersonal touch.
"We are not friends." the day communicates to you, "So get on to the next one."
So you do by going through the rituals of a living man. I had left my apartment to buy groceries, subtly recognizing the decision-making process of purchasing food holds a small pleasure when one is flush with cash but poor on purpose.