8:13am, Half an Hour after Waking up

I sit in the bedsit, in the gloom of still-closed curtains with no light switched on. The cold of early mornings. I sleep with my window closed now. The ensuing muting of the outside world makes this bedsit seem a remote place - one situated in a building down an obscure street, rather than in the centre of town. The sound of the traffic is so muted as to seem almost consolatory.
The seagulls. I can hear the seagulls though. This morning there was the contented sound of a pigeon. the cooing sounded like it came from inside one of the walls. I imagine there may be a nest somewhere but I can't think where.
I can't believe how much the temperature has dropped! There are echoes of last winter everwhere. When I enter this house of bedsits after work, I imagine the inside realigning itself to what it was back then. The air tastes the same. The light falls the same.
Not even a year since I moved in - I moved in in December and it is not yet the end of October.
Time-lapsed, I seek solace instead in a barely started cup of tea before my too-short walk to work.