[...]
His eyes became fixated on the snowy landscape, passed and forgotten by the bus. He let out a sigh and looked down at his blank notebook. He scribbled the following:
"inept gratification...ceaseless desiring...the end, the end, the end?"
The sheet was crumpled, torn up, and deposited into the 'trash' compartment of his bag. He turned to the snowy July landscape, his head heavy with nostalgia. He remembered taking in the crisp cold air into his lungs. He remembered the acrid scent of snow brewing in the clouds above. The autumn palette of infinite shades of red and brown soon would be overwhelmed by the multitudinous luminosity of snow - which left nothing untouched.
Snow in July was an inept gratification, a cheap substitute, and untimely, albeit cleverly crafted, insult to persistent, slowly fading, memories. Soon, even the remembrances would pass and be forgotten - as obsolescent as the world that inspired them.
He looked at his watch again to check on its condition. It read: 7:45AM. It was accurate. The bus approached the terminal in front of the building where he worked. The bus ran like clockwork as usual. He left the terminal at 7:47AM and the conveyor floor moved him towards the office, arriving at 7:53AM - on time, always on time.
