This Town is Ruled by Gulls and they're all Killers

I can hear the rain just above the sound of the music. The i-pod is set to random, and insists on playing either nostalgic or melancholic songs. In the sound of the rain is the sound of a bird, not a seagull but some other bird, a springtime bird that sounds lonely and lost and out of place. A bad place for birds like you I think this town is ruled by gulls and they're all killers...
The door of my room rattles in the frame, -I have both my windows open. The sound puts me in mind of footsteps. Perhaps Andy is back, but I do not think so. Beyond the closed door the hallway feels silent.
The melancholy of a wasted day. Kind of tidied my room and kind of read 'Fables'- - fitting as it haunted my dreams so much last night. I tried to do some drawing earlier, just as twilight began - but eye-strain and the lowlight of dusk depressed me, and I ended up tearing the picture I was doing into ribbons.
Bank holiday Monday always tastes of church spires and lost afternoons.
The house opposite is sillhouette. One of the windows is lighted. An attic window, perhaps a bedroom or a study. Everything feels abandoned out there. The sky is grey / blue, nearly black. The sound of the rain is slow and heavier, dripping in a cave.
I hear the sound of a seagull now, and I wonder where the earlier bird I heard is now.