Tomorrow.

Moonlight spilled between the gaps of the shutters

while he lay bare-chested on the bed,

cold air prickling against his skin.

He turned, frustrated with the weight of the blanket he had pushed aside.

It was too much.

This town.

This job.

This stupid fucking heavy quilt.

He kicked his legs over the side of the bed and made towards the window,

peering out at the street between the thin lengths of wood.

The wind rustled the trees outside,

the street lamp flickered intermittently.

When the sun rises, I'll go.

He thought.

Tomorrow.

I'll start new.





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