lamy safari (do i need to say more?)
The clouds race with an invisible wind, following an invisible orbit. They look like the impossibly perfect clouds Michelangelo painted. Fluffy and white, with a silver lining right where the sun hits. It’s a deceivingly cold day. The sunlight isn’t warm. Windows are closed and shut tight, but even then, the slightest breeze comes through the cracks. It’s an old house and cracks are as inevitable as the night sky on a sunny day.
a perfect pen: lamy 2000 fountain pen
It’s completely dark outside, streets only illuminated by weak slices of streetlights. The rain has finally stopped, but the stars are covered under a thick layer of clouds. The world has quieted down, almost asleep, only noise is the occasional car splashing in the puddles on the road. Even the house seems to sigh with relief, cracking and groaning every now and then and settling for the long night to come. Music has lost its voice, almost lost through the speakers, barely audible. If you like, get your one last round of drinks, evening snacks and necessary blankets. This is the last part of this story.