...Every face tells a story, even if you don't speak to a person you can see their life history worn like military stripes on their face. A face betrays things about people.

The fridge has a sad selection of food in it. I really need to go out and buy something, the 24 hour shop near the rec might be open, although the kids hang around there like a pack, lost eyes following you, perched on bmx's, legs swinging idly as they scuff their trainers on the pavement, dappled with ancient chewing gum and dog ends.
I think I'll wait, I'll get something instant from somewhere or another, chips maybe.
The door goes upstairs, a dull thud followed by the slow padding of feet. Another door. Something breaks, china, glass. The abrupt sound of it smashing on the hard floor above makes me jump. Feet shuffle, then silence. The calm before the storm. I can see the grey sky mottled with clouds and approaching rain through the window. The hazy, burnt orange of an urban sunset is beginning to bleed over the sky, thin wispy clouds tinted pink by it. The skyline is dark, long shadows creeping out over the forecourt, searching with long fingered arms for the places that will later be inhabited by the people who only come out at night, seeking solace in the anonymity and freedom that darkness brings.