Flock of Frozen Seagulls

7:40am.
In the living room with a cup of tea, curtains still drawn against the neonate day gathering outside. The curtains, thick red things, muffle the sounds of the outside. I can detect, as yet, no sound of anyone in the workshops below.
Woke up exhausted when my alarm when off at at 7:00am, not even an hour ago. I was deep in a sleep as thick and heavy as concrete, smothering dreams and any memory of dreams. A coma-drift, lost on a boat in underground waters. The vast arch of a buried cathedral, the soporific smell of cold, near freezing waters.
Yesterday at work - or was it the day before?- I looked out of the window at a flock of birds. Starlings I presume, though I remember them to be seagulls - I didn't know seagulls flew in flocks though. Their wings beat against an air that seemed to actually work against them, and their flight looked slowed down and heavy, as if they were flying through treacle, or through the sleep of last night that I have still not quite woken from.