the November sun is a golden one-dimensional sphere in the faint blue sky, as it sinks reluctantly behind a common low-rise block of apartments. you feel irritated by the stifling post-summer heat as it threatens to consume your sanity. staring too long at it causes spots of violet rimmed with red and neon yellow, to haunt your vision persistantly. your room is decorated with stray strong beams of this lemon light, bouncing off familiar furniture and illuminating awkward corners, and you muse about the function of those blinds. you see your flat grey shadow cast upon a patch of whitewashed wall not yet poster-clad. you tell yourself you hate this half of the year where the dusk is exceptionally attention-grabbing, and you never wanted darkness more. the sunshine reveals the fingerprint smudges and specks of dust resting on your clear window pane and you listen to the quiet whirring of the silent chaos around you.