The opposite side of the road offered a different view of the Corner House. Walking uphill against a bright bitter breeze seemed to present it in a different light. Mascara flakes dislodged by wind stung tears obscured new ideas that were often induced, but couldnt be drawn to conclusion on this frequent short journey. Reaching the familiarly stifling central heating dispersed clues to the allusion that could never be reached. The walk found reality too quickly.
But this was the opposite side of the road, the opposite direction, drowned in unremitting daylight. Could it stand so indifferent? Were other factors necessary to incur the disquiet and dispel the acceptance? Surely at this time and this distance, all would be stripped naked and laid bare, yet it was more unyielding than before. Shrouded in its own candour.
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