Sober Times

Sober Times. A gigantic dark grey cloud covers the town and its environs and rain fall in large lazy drops that when hitting ground splits into a thousand droplets like cluster bombs designed to destroy people but let building stand. Not many cars on roads austerity grips us with an iron fist and no one drives for fun anymore, the clear sign that we must look for a modest future; haste for material gains we left brotherhood behind. Although the day is murky light is not on in buildings around mine, we have to do with the light this day gives us till evening. Trees in the avenue are leafless, soaked and dismal now and elegant pavements slippery, by leaves of sternness and I think of the suit I bought at a second hand shop, it had been a banker´s who scared by the masses wroth had fled to Bahamas…he could have done worse. We love to hate financiers we also envy them so we d not have to look at ourselves for money we borrowed to buy a bigger house and a new car none of what we really needed. It has stopped raining and a finger of light pokes through the grey, severity is easier to bear in sunlight.