Nothing.

The sky is the colour of cardboard. The trees are all still, and I may peer at them as much as I like, they aren’t going to speak. The square shaped shops that line the street are closed; their shutters drawn and their lights turned off. The road is long and empty.


The bird that passed me by stopped long enough to throw a long look of condescension. I waved my arms around my head, worried that it may either attack or poop on me. It did neither; it just flew past, looking smug.

At the station, the train chugs in and out in silence. The people who enter bury their heads into books, or their modern-day equivalents, and escape into a world outside of their own. The train crawls into the last station, and we file out with blank eyes.

At night, the only sound in my room is that of the air-conditioning. I lift the curtain to peep outside and there is soft rain dampening the streets. The bulb in the lamppost flickers and dies, right outside my window.

I fall asleep soon enough without any noteworthy thoughts crossing my mind.