stuffy corridors, chequered floors, musty teakwood cupboards, glass that needs cleaning, no air-conditioning; the temperature outside is barely past ten degrees. stale white walls, insufficient lighting, felt coat draped across our shoulders, school books in hand. arched walkways, black court shoes, rushing to yet another classroom. stale air, but a pinch of cold, just a nip. crisp white shirts.
is it possible i was there in a past life? musty dorm room, musty everything. musty is my favourite smell. when the bell rings we get some mushy mash from the canteen and then head outside to breathe. scones. flowers. coffee.
i hate that i have some sort of weird deep-seated colonial hangover and i hate to admit that where the empire lives(/d) is truly my favourite place in the world. i want to be cold and miserable. i want the outside to justify my depression. i want the grey. i want the old. the musty. the quiet. the boring.
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