Slowly, very slowly.. I got up from the park bench and started the walk. It was almost sundown and my thoughts were my only companion. As I reached the park entrance, my thoughts were interrupted by the noise that was raging about me. It was perfectly normal seven o’ clock in the evening. To me however, it was sheer ruckus. I sighed and started to walk towards home. It was slowly getting dark and I was trying hard to monitor my own thoughts. I gave up on it quickly as I found it impossible to hear. Somehow, I realized that the more the sound the less likely it is to distinguish it. The thought brought a smile on my face as sounds grew louder and more insignificant around me.
I had a long night ahead of me and I knew it was not going to be fun. I was going to have to submit in another badly edited piece but I could not help it. The words did not really come to me anymore. It wasn’t just any writer’s block, it was more. It was a sense of desperation and loneliness that was taking over my writing. I glanced at my watch wondering if the small shop around the corner would still be open. I needed some coffee to last me the night. I was becoming sick of coffee. I had never been fond of it, but recently it had become a necessity. I was still not sure whether the coffee was helping me or was it just a psychological addition to my stale imagination.
The shop below the building was open and I thanked heavens for that. I bought a small jar of coffee (the cheapest one, I could find). I was vaguely hungry but I refused to acknowledge it. Food had lost its flavour. Just like everything else. All was pale. I sat down on my desk, unscrewed a bottle of ink and dipped my pen in.

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