The matchbox fell and spilled the matches on to the floor. By the time he retrieved them, they were damp. He tried to light them in vain. Some sparked and died like politicians during the polls. Some didn't even bother. In the end he screamed all his frustrations away. He had been trapped in this hole for three days, or was it four? He didn't know. All he remembered was being plunged in to darkness on a bright sunny day.
Looks like the fog just spared my window to the street. The street lights looked liking smokers in an alley. The cobble stones were wet from the drizzle. The street dogs were busy barking at something. A breeze just unsettled the garbage can's lid. My world hasn't changed much. Everyday I look for some sign of change. Nothing seems to change. I have grown bald. My eyesight has dimmed. My kids have grown. The window pane has gathered dust and dirt. The spiders have evolved. Some old buildings have given way to new ones. The neon signs have gone. Still nothing seem to have changed. Change they say has to come from within. But then, what can come out of an empty narrow dead end?
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