It’s as claimed by rust as it is by nature’s mossy, clutching fingers. With pride we can look and say that’s ours, ours like trees aren’t or like boulders sit dwarfing us.

A path of crunching steps leads a slight figure to the sick, pale yellow of the old body drained of its original luster by the sun’s lust. Hardly matters in the dead of night, but maybe come morning it’ll be something to think on to keep their mind off of the something bold and Vantablack.

Lifting and pulling the handle doesn’t get them inside, and now made to weigh the worth they can see how much of the outside has managed to influence what they thought would be a respite inside. They look around as if there was ever going to be something different to see, and not able to recover enough spirit in the wake of the disappointment they take a seat. It won’t be a shelter as imagined, but one less direction to sweep with an already tired neck and one that’s sure to feel the rough hands of cramping massage it out of shape as the night goes on. It’s protection worth taking.

Their back felt tender after an hour in hope of sleep but it was certainly out now that this was all it was ever going to be. There would be no sleep or rest for their wicked nest of hornets, buzzing and sickening where a lighter soul would find their mind, and as unhappy as unsurprised they rose with cracking feet, stretched their sunken back, and readied to continue on. A moment went by before they bent to reach for their bag, but with a hand around one of the straps they changed their mind in accordance with their second thought. They returned to the spot on the ground and leaned back uncomfortably, just like before.

There was nowhere to really go, they knew, and so sitting here to maybe see how this spot, known by heart after an hour of taking it in, might look with the early beams of sunrise added to the mix.

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