Night by the Engineerium

The Engineerium, clinging to the edge of Hove Park. Locked gates at night, but the lights in the grounds seem as searchlights. We skirt the esges of the park also, past the old petrol station, the dog track, the supermarket. All closed now, apart from the petrol station I used to work in.
Lone men in Hove Park. A jogger, a dog walker, and a rather more sinister figure sat on a bench on the path lit by green lamps.
Walking through the darkness. A fog rolls in from somewhere. Lights from the Legal and General building make shafts of film-cliche effects in the thickening white. The windows of the said building are empty. Blank rooms that define devoid. Joe used to work here before before he left for Poland.
Icy roads, though the snow is gone.
Back up past Wilbury Crescent. I have spent as long not living there as I did living there. Playing with these kind of equations in my mind. Almost two years to the week that, via a solicitors letter, we were informed that the owner had died and we had unril the end of February to leave.
Dark old December nights.
Makes me want to sleep for days.