He wrapped his scarf tight around his neck and buttoned his coat up nice and snug around his body. Taking a deep breath, he walked out his flat into the grey haze of the autumn London fog. He had only lived there for a few weeks and he had never encountered a London evening of foggy mysteries. He ventured down his steps and down the street towards the cafe, wisps of fog wrapping themselves loosely around his thin, reedy body.
He shrunk into his scarf like a turtle as he began to feel the fog trying to sneak into his warmth. He hated the cold and the fog. He didn’t understand why he agreed to take a job in London in the autumn when it was basically everything he hated. He missed the California sun and the burning heat that came with it. He had to buy a new wardrobe when he moved. He hated it. He didn’t know why he did anything these days. All he wanted to do was sleep and never have to wake up but no, life didn’t allow that for him.
He didn’t love his job (marketing and advertisement), he didn’t love himself (he found himself to be too tall, too skinny, and too pale), he didn’t even love his family (too loud, too crazy, too much drama), and he found that he rarely took pleasure in anything but lying down in the sun and not moving.
The man found the cafe and quick walked into it, shaking the cold from his bones and unwrapping himself from his cocoon, taking in the warm scent of coffee and pastries. He didn’t love much and he didn’t understand much, but for now, he’ll take small pleasure in a hot cup of coffee and a warm plate of apple turnovers.