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Delinquent habits die slowly, or even never at all. |
The following day marled my first time being out and about in some two odd months. From the moment I stepped into the stairwell, I recieved nothing but constant blank stares from whoever happened to pass me by. Time almost seemed to have stopped; for it felt like I'd just arrived at the apartment, and was about to enter a long forgotten room. Even whilst glancing back at my canvas, I couldn't help but see the corner as empty. As I gently closed the door behind me, several voices echoed into my ears. They did nothing but whisper questions amongst one another; " Whose that ?", " Has he always been in there ?", " What's even in that room ?". Each and everyone of them chose to ignore me, and instead called upon one another for their own answers. I returned a drowsy glare at them all before reaching for the front door. After stepping out into the gray covered parking lot, I hesitantly stared across the street, waiting for the man I'd met for an entire afternoon. I never enjoyed walking alone, as my innate paranoia would always shoot into my head, leading to me dashing everywhere I went like a looney. |