… And then comes the dusk,The time for home and hearth,
Back to my empty flat, the jingling of the door keys
A warm bath and a quick mug of coffee…
The balcony,
The creeping sound of the backdoor opening
The empty armchair, soon occupied
The light goes off…
Black glass.
Rain water seeping through it.
Drop by drop trickling down… and down.
Submitting itself to the puddle forming below.
Adding on to it, every drop makes a difference.
The coffee mug.
Above it, whirls of smoke rising up,
And up, disappearing into the void.
The fag is lighted.
All a dusky hue,
Except its end, glowing red,
Proudly.
One puff, a cough, and the eyelids close
Taking it in, absorbing it.
As it spreads, the senses numb with every puff.
The downpour outside grows,
The eyes open,
Looking through the glass.
Horns of cars that swiftly pass by.
Men women and children
Trotting by.
The street glistens with rain water,
The puddle is growing bit by bit.
Every drop matters, or it doesn’t?
The coffee is cold, and untouched.
The cigarette reaches its butt end.
I crush it down, putting out is proud red glow.
An eternity seems to have passed.
i love my air conditioning... 
