Sunday. Sun Day. S U N - D A Y.
Of course it's raining. On my street anyway. Ferocious, vile, lashing rain and my dismal face looking out into it from behind cheap double glazed windows. I wonder if anyone realizes I am real and not some kind of alabaster gargoyle... a permanent fixture that lurks morosely behind drizzled glass. That's what I feel like. A freakshow. The window that kids creep past as a dare. Making up myths and tales about me. When I was young it was Bubbles' house. He was a thirty year old man-child with a thick tongue. “Allo, boys!” He'd dribble, waving. Well, now I am Bubbles. Just standing here, gormlessly looking out into the void. Still, at least I can cry and no-one will notice... unless they think about the window and my face through the streams that is.
I went twelve minutes fifty three seconds without blinking. In all that time I didn't think of John once. Maybe I should never blink again.