I hate this place.

no

From this window you can see no hills,

a distant tree line,

and a building crane.

Both are waiting; the trees for Spring, the crane for someone who needs to work.

On the grass below, concrete slabs wait for people who need to sit.

On the far side, the concrete has been shaped and deformed to look like soggy egg-boxes. It is not clear whether they are for sitting, lounging or sleeping.

No-one is choosing to do either, or any.

A strip of gravel runs across the grass, allowing people to walk.

Tracks show that some have tried to cycle.

The gravel is too thick so the tracks stop before halfway; a girl is walking there now.

Her scarf is the same colour as her trainers.

Maroon.

The gravel is silver grey.

She disappears into the building below.

She is followed by a man, the bald patch on his head matches those on his jeans.

Beyond, there is a decorative pool; it is not deep.

In the middle of the pool is a steel sculpture.

Water and steel.

Rust.

A man is standing next to the pool, he is talking into his phone.

His right hand is in his pocket; he may be left handed.

To the left of the pool stands an oak tree, a bike leans against it.

The shadows of the branches reach across the gravel path.

Arms and fingers towards the grass.

int/19