Morning

I am now leaving the house at 6.15am to catch a train to get to school for 7.50am (I know, horrible commute). This means I leave the house while it is still dark and all the lights in people's houses are off. I obviously venture out of the house when it is dark at night, but the morning seems so different - there is a quietness to the morning, a feeling of intruding. I slink down the road, careful not to crunch the gravel too loudly, creeping along walls and away from streetlights. In the evening you try and make yourself heard and seen, but the deserted morning is a different matter.

This morning on my way to the train I saw a lone man dressed in a reflective yellow vest over his clothes and wearing a hockey mask over his face. It was too out of place for me to feel alarmed, but only after he passed me by did I fully realise he was clearly up to no good. I also, in a presumably unrelated occurance, saw an enormous dead fox splayed out on the pavement in front of me. Its neck bent back at an awkward angle, exposing a white scruff around his neck. His glassy eyes gazed sightlessly into the night.