no name no end

It was early afternoon when he returned home. He lived on the fourth floor of a relatively new building – not so new to have the small windows still working, nor old enough to have good, wide working windows. Neither did it look modern, if you understand with it some plastic construction refined with black glass, nor was whatsoever similar to a house meant to last. It puffed up during one of those time folds, when you have to save your poverty somehow somewhere. This building was one of those “where.” He climbed the fourth floor and stopped on the threshold with the key in his hand. The door looked pale grey, it had always been grey, nothing new about that, but this tonality made it look different from the lightness it previously seemed to have. He was tired after many hours of work and a long journey to the airport. He turned the key and entered the short corridor. Paleness disappeared into the dark space. He automatically took off his shoes and the jacket, he deposed gloves and hut on a stool nearby. He stood in the hall for a few moments. It was dark, yes, it was dark. Downstairs the sun had still some meters to walk downhill. Such obscurity was not justified. It’s still day – he thought. But you never know when the card is turned face-to-table. It was dark in the kitchen. Even darker in the other rooms. He needed some plants to bring the colors of time inside. He needed some colors.