Satisfaction
08th December 2005

Wary of his toiling he escaped outside, eager to reach his fort. The sun had just gone down, crimson residue of the giant lamp reflecting an artist’s angry spat upon his canvas. To complete the winter evening, a light breeze started to pick up, finding passage through threads of fabric, reminding the flesh of its vary subterfuge. It had not rained since the last three weeks he had been in the city. The ground he walked upon was dry and echoed his footsteps. The noise was far more subtle than the incessant ticking of the clock in his room, but it irritated him nevertheless. He looked down at his shoes, coaxing it to move faster. The old man, with primordial haunts crossed a ‘lounge’ where a generation he couldn’t associate himself with mingled with each other. He acknowledged the presence of perfume in the air as he shuffled forth, not once wanting to be inside, his destination, his mistress far more pleasurable. Cars whizzed by him, dust and smoke distracting his persistent plodding. Every now and then a pedestrian or a two-wheeled contraption would halter his pace. 15 minutes later he found himself in a situation where a climb of only 17 steps would lead him to a familiar realm; a few paces beyond which lay his domain. With youthful enthusiasm he raced forth. A moment inside his cocoon and he longed to be out again…