text: He started to walk. The party he'd just visited must've bored him. He's too high brow for that sort of crowd. Not in a vain or superficial way, he's probably not aware he is, it's just in the way he *is*, you know? His nose carried him forward. Might be a posture thing. How some people don't have bad posture *per se* - ooh per se's fancy sounding, I'm remembering that one - anyway, you know how some people dont look like they have bad posture at a glance but the more you look at them you find they - through no fault of their own, mind you - have bits that stick out a bit more? That's his nose. He started carving a path through the air with it. He'd barely finished closing the front door behind him, stepping out onto the pavement and turning his collar up against the cold before he'd moved swiftly on. His trendy but thin grey winter coat went even further down him than just the collar though, in unison with his long streaks of jet black slightly curly hair, it flowed in the wind and flapped about like the ears of a basset hound walking at his heel. I think that's called a simile, what I just did. Very clever of me. He walked on. Making short lasting impressions in a thin layer of recent rainfall with heavy soled boots. He'd narrowly avoided the peak of the rain spout, and it had reduced to a light drizzle by the time he'd begun his journey. All's the better for it though, the rain might've ruined the view. Maybe he wanted to leave that party even earlier but stayed because it'd started to rain. That could be good for character development. His boots seemed to walk him, with each plod and splat - onomatopoeia, *very* nice - his stride dominated the ground on which he treaded. Is treaded a word? Trode? Just trod? Yeah that's right. His stride dominated the ground on which he *trod*. The night went on, and even further he walked. Walking as if there were a drumbeat in his head. Dancing to his own tune. The symphony of city sounds around him formed a chorus he could hear all together with perfect clarity. Wait no hold on, he's got earphones in. They were blending into that scarf. Erm... No car that churned passed, turning rainfall into tidal-waves on the side of the pavement, nor any rushing of precipitation into drains could penetrate the wall of sound he'd constructed around himself. Shutting himself away from it all? Possibly. But mostly tuning the world into his headspace. He saw music wherever he went - I'm guessing. It chorused in his ears, a symphony of - I wanna say...rock? Yeah, some indie-rock band probably. It's playing at that annoying level where it's loud enough to be heard by passers by but not loud enough to be distinguishable or enjoyable to the rest of us. With a hint of undue, charming self-consciousness, he stuffed his large but delicate manly hands into his coat pockets, becoming a sealed circuit of - now... what to put here. I've just used 'manly' but a sealed circuit of manliness is what he looks like. He stuffed his large but delicate *masculine* hands into his coat pockets, becoming a sealed circuit of manliness. That's good yeah. I'm really proud of that one actually, well done me. Onward he walked. Fighting effortlessly through bracing mild winds. An electric tang on the air reflected his zest for life, the way the puddles in the road also reflected his zest for life. His coy lips curled into a brief courteous smile as a woman walking a dog skulked past him. No don't stop and ask him the time he has places to be. Why are you humouring this woman she's walking her dog at like quarter-past nine when it's just about to start pissing it down with rain again. Why are you even bothering to take your earphones out to hear her, she probably has a shrill voice. Dog probably smells too. Of course you have to be kind, it's in your nature, but still. Ok, checking your watch - god, there are those hands again. Alright good, she's buggered off. Now we can continue with the story. He walked further still, onwardly. Baggy brown trousers - seeping with black at their base as small droplets of water kicked upwards onto them - swayed back and forth with every pace. Rotating around a circular axis made by his thin yet sturdy legs. Now made aware of the city sounds following the brief removal of his earphones, he scanned his surroundings as he went along, taking note of the road by which he walked. The cars that rushed past. The skyscrapers towering over him. The people shadowing lights from inside busy restaurants that glinted different shades in his blue - no, green eyes. The street before and behind him. The people walking behind him, and parallel to him on the adjacent side of the street. Following this, he once again retrieved his hands from his warm, tight pockets, and hurriedly - no scratch that, hurriedly suggests worry, or fear; he needs to be relaxed. *Hastily*, yes that's good - and hastily checked the time. He only just checked the time, that's weird. His pace began to quicken now, as he both onwardly and furtherly walked, though jogged would now be more accurate. Although he'd resumed listening, he no longer strutted in rhythm with his favourite little-known band, and his boots squelched on the- shit he saw me didn't he. It's this bloody tape-recorder isn't it. I've got to start doing this just mentally, they take longer to notice.