Only the Past is Real

Last afternoon of the year.
Grey drizzle, grey skies.
Walked back from my morning shift at work through crowds of shoppers, most of whom seemed to have an inability to walk properly.
Flat is quiet. I'm the only one in.
Charging up my i-pod. The laptop makes contented sighing sounds -like breathing- every now and again.
Swapping messages via Facebook as I write with an old school friend, not seen for over twenty years, about the possibilities of reunions in 2012.
Closed curtains in my room. Dim yellow glow, dulled even more, by the globe of a lampshade.
Last afternoon of the year.
Only the past is resilient enough to thrive.