Chapter 2

Locking the door to his little flat he began the trod down the three flights of stairs. *tak tak tak* echoed through the well, his shoes upon the plastic mats covering the old wooden stairs. A hollowness verberating between each step. He wasn't alone. There were two other tenants living here, one on the second, and one on the first floor. They were both quite eccentric. The man on the second floor owned a beautiful sports car and had visitors every night, female associates he called them. He said they were working on business dealings for the following day. A man with that many dealings most definitely was a prudent man, a man to admire.

The man on the first floor was a bit more reserved. From what I understand he was a musician of sorts, the classical type. He would often spend days locked in his flat and would only open the door to throw all his trash into the stairwell. It was mostly sheet music, but it always oddly smelled of rubbing alcohol. The last time I saw him, he hadn't showered for what seemed to be a week. His hair a mess, shirt half untucked, zipper down. He had what looked to be a strand of pasta wrapped around his neck with a large sauce stain covering his entire shirt pocket. I must admit he was the more entertaining of the two. He would have made a good clown. Maybe he actually was one? A classical clown, now, there's a thought! With his crazy hair and unkempt shirt and his big shoes that were always causing him to stumble down the stairs.

He trips, going head long down the well. Instinct kicked in, grasping for the railing. Heart racing, he steadies himself, and continues down. With a sigh of relief he looks up, peering through the large windows that shrouded the front of the building. A bird flew into the window, it seemed to be fine this time. Three floors, three flights, three apartments. No one else was awake yet, it was far too early for them, I wonder if they even work at all. Of course I never see them anyway, so I guess it doesn't really matter.

The time is now 7:08. Opening his umbrella, the man steps through the door at the bottom of the complex, out into the morbid rain, a shiver going up his spine. It wasn't a cold day, nor was it hot, you get it, I won't say it again. He proceeds on his walk to work, always past a sign that reads "apartments for rent, two single room one bath, kitchen and dining call xxx-xxxx."

It was a bit of a long walk, though side streets and alleyways, over and under hangs, then through a park. His place of employment was on the other side. Work started at 8:00 sharp. He's never been late, this is thanks to always waking up at 6:32. Where he lived was a bit loud you see, they often caused him to have the strangest of dreams. This was partially why he made sure to end his walk to work through the park. It was the only moment of peace the man could find in his day.

You see he lived in a city of sorts, it wasn't a big city, nor a small one. It was just that, a city. It was a well known city, known for all the ash in the air. This would paint the city grey each and every day. It always rains, you see? The ash came from the local coal plants which provided the electricity to their surrounding areas. Coal was also used to heat homes and cook food, well I believe it was even used in some beauty products. To say this city was built on coal would be an understatement. Rather an overstatement, you know since the coal was in the air above the, never mind you get it.

The houses along the street were tightly packed, plain looking things. Flat on all sides, like towering shoeboxes that people stored themselves in rather their shoes. Not too many people live here anymore, it's mostly just the workers. Streaks of soot flowed down the sides, through the pipes, and into the street. Made from cobblestone the occasional car bumbled it's way down. Often lurching through a deep puddle, sending the black liquid, like a spilt inkwell, across the sidewalk.

It is now 7:08. The man has begun his journey, for it was truly that. A little less than an hours walk to work, through the rain, he was used to it. On the other side of the street ran a child. The rain leaving stripes down his face, like those you'd see on soldiers headed to war. He was a simple child who enjoyed simple things.