Cold. The chill. The ice on the air. Eyes open sluggishly - blinking to make sense of the world around them. Darkness clings to the surroundings - a murk that warns of the day to come.
Outside the streets cower - striving not to be seen. Others stumbling, as I, on the way to work - with stamping and clapping to get the blood flowing.
The week's beginning takes its toil. Cul-de-Sacs of sleep litter the geography of daily abulutions. Extra seconds of recollection and numbness that take the clocks hands past where they should be. Time taken to acknowledge reality as it crawls itself over the day, and links arms too, too strongly.
This is Monday. The wheels of the week slowly cranking through the gears to generate the energy to see another revolution of the disc.
Toothpaste smeared on the brush and over the sink, I stare into the mirror, blinking myself awake. Blink, blink... Blink.