Stack

The sun struggled to break through the clouds this morning, laying its gloomy light over the rain slicked rooftops of the houses across the street, setting the tone of the day. The morning news was not good, is never good, war torn and sanctimonious as it is. The daily commute stuttered through road works. Stop-start. Stop-start. Stop-start. The sun broke briefly through, warming the pavements, heating offices through windows that do not open, before the rain started to fall again. A dank drizzle making footpaths slippery. A march across site to an office crammed with other people’s unwanted furniture and general leavings. A sour faced encounter, the other party not programmed to understand people. Pat phrases, learned by rote, dripping from his tongue. The memory of ENT clinics, headphones and “Can you hear the noise now?” The recollection of hallucinations brought on by illness, and pleas for help unheaded by medical experts. Evidence stacked, brick upon brick. The sun refused to shine. The rain continued to fall. The clouds pulled like curtains across the sky. The day left disjointed by a single ill-managed encounter. All because the sun was hindered by clouds this morning, setting the tone for the day.

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