Imagine a small bakery. Dimly lit, quite… The evening hours have sheathed it with an almost liminal sense of calm. The person working there fixes his clothing and hair, hangs up the aprons and fixes the chairs. He leaves the bakery and locks the door, in the quiet and calm the click is the only sound, and it is almost a reassurance to the man about the times to come. The sun is slowly setting, not quite orange yet, but the white light has been replaced with a yellow warmth. The air is chilly, not cold but not warm either, perfect for the thin overcoat the man adorns. He puts in his air pods and presses play on a jazz playlist. Heading home now, he gets on the train, he watches the sun set and the city pass by as one after another, the stops come and go.
Getting off close to his apartment, he steps out with a delicate motion, ever the scaredy-cat about the gaps. It might bring bad luck, though he wouldn’t know. His walk to the apartment is uneventful for the most part, he watches his black leather boots lift off and come down back to the pavement. The road is surrounded by variously neatly arranged plants, and he stops to watch the sun hit a pink rose behind the gates of an unknown building. After some more time, he sees a black cat jumping above some old stone walls covered with moss. The cat turns and looks at him, its yellow eyes gleaming only for a moment, before it runs away.
Finally in front of his door, the rattle of keys and the ever-silent thump of the door are the only indicators he has returned. It is a small flat, the door opening to a cramped hall with a passage to the left, to his bedroom, and another that continues forward into the kitchen and living room.
He decides he will eat some roasted vegetables and instant noodles; it seems like a healthy enough mix for someone in his twenties, living alone. The olive oil sizzles and the kettle whistles, an odd but pleasant combination. He puts on a record, Beatles, probably. With the last of the sun gone he has opened a dim lamp. He sits in front of a window and watch the cars outside whirl away. People, coming and going… He takes a deep breath. The record skips.
s.