The unrelenting rain outside your apartment is the least of your worries as you distractedly grabbed a freshly-pressed pair of black jeans off the top of the pile of clean clothes lying in your closet which still smelt lightly of new laundry. A subtle shade of gold from your frill-free lamp lit the room darkened by the impending sunset, though the grey-blue skies outside flared random orange. Your eyes glanced briefly towards your silent cellphone, your ticket to this frozen world of decadence and mindless digits. Willing the screen to flash with an incoming call or message, your hopes are dashed like always.

As you smooth your pants down your long legs, you notice the stiff little finger on your left hand and you wonder or not to blame it on endless unproductive practice on the piano. Woe, you think sadly to yourself, your teeth gnawing gently at your lower lip. Shifting your gaze to a disorganized mess of DVDs your last lover left behind, it fixates upon a particular romance film title, sentimental self-confessed bastard that you are.

Shoving the entity under the couch, purely to indulge in escapism, you sigh without really knowing why. A pristine white shirt, socks and shoes. The door closes softly and keys clang as you step, unnoticed, into the welcoming embrace of faceless strangers and the familiar cold rain.