Last Shift in the Capsule

The day ticked on, the first day of autumn, feeling summery, and then, in the bedsit tonight, a strange shifting and it wasn't summer any more. Yesterday now (11:04pm) feels like months ago. The contracts arrived from Marilyn today, the deposit has gone from my account. Three weeks from now, we shall have the keys to the flat in the Mews.
The bedsit already feels old, begins to feel like it belongs to someone else, or perhaps the emptiness between my tenancy and the next. There is a peace in it, in the stream-like gurgling of the fridge, the voices in the hallway, and the cries from the pub that can be heard from the bathroom.
I went for a walk earlier. Left the house in the full dark of 9:30pm. Walked back up to Buckingham Street. My old flat there, the lights off and the curtains open. In the darkness there I could see the ladder I would use to climb up to the storage area. White archiotecture in the darkness.
I saw a man in the streets between here (the bedsit) and there. He was shining the blue light of a pencil torch on the soles of his shoes. As I passed him he stopped me. He resembled a cross between a pirate, a crusty, a goth and a medieval court jester. Straggly beard. Thick black eye make up. he showed me a laptop bag he had found. The laptop bag was empty, but he still seemed delighted anyway, telling me with great enthusiasm how his friend had found a 'Packard Bell' the other night' and of the things he had found in bins and 'by the side of the road'.
The night seemed ancient, the shadows darker and deeper, and the starless, obscured skies above colder and vaster, though with a strange comfort. I don't know whether it is the knowledge that it is autumn has changed my perception of the night, or the fact that autumn has changed the night itself.
Joe down tomorrow. Al and Claire's wedding this weekend. People I won't have seen for years. Three strange weeks left here and then the end of the bedsit chapter.
I imagine the next twenty one days will pass by charged with oddness; endings, beginnings, shiftings, the reconfiguration of constellations. I wonder how Andy feels. He has lived in his flat for nearly eight years.
I long for autumn and still taste summer on my lips.
There are voices in the hallway, footsteps on the landing.
They sound like memories already.