You wake in a room with white walls. The light enters from the left. You think about the day ahead and it feels familiar, like a sentence you have already read.
The coffee is bitter. You add milk. The spoon turns clockwise. Outside, the street is wet from last night's rain. A bicycle passes.
At the intersection, the light is green. You cross. The air smells of bread from the bakery on the corner. Someone waves but you do not recognize them.
You take the left path through the park. The trees are still bare. A dog runs without a leash. You sit on a bench and read three pages of a book you will never finish.
Lunch alone at the window table. The waiter remembers your name. Rain begins again. You watch it trace lines on the glass, each drop choosing its own path down.
The afternoon dissolves into errands and small decisions. You buy stamps. You return a book. You stand in a queue and think about nothing at all.
Evening. The sky turns the color of old photographs. You walk home by a different route. The city sounds like breathing.
You wake in a room with grey walls. The light enters from the right. You think about the day ahead and it feels strange, like a sentence written in a language you almost know.
The coffee is sweet. You drink it black. The spoon turns counter-clockwise. Outside, the street is dry. A bicycle waits, locked to a post.
At the intersection, the light is red. You wait. The air smells of exhaust. Someone waves and you recognize them but cannot remember their name.
You take the right path along the canal. The trees are already green. A cat sits on a wall. You stand on a bridge and watch the water move in a direction you cannot determine.
Lunch with a stranger at a shared table. No one asks your name. Sunlight breaks through. You watch shadows move across the floor, each one a clock without numbers.
The afternoon dissolves into wandering and large questions. You lose your stamps. You borrow a book. You stand at a crosswalk and think about everything at once.
Evening. The sky turns the color of developing photographs. You walk home by the usual route. The city sounds like holding its breath.