Harry's wandering eventually takes him to what little 'outdoors' he can access. An actual exit has evaded him, and for as long as his mind is (semi-consciously) clinging to the idea that he's died and gone to some kind of post-modern Limbo, he's not going to try looking much harder.
The rain is familiar - he's been based in London his entire adult life, after all - but the air is dense and oppressive, without the promising static of an oncoming storm. It's not especially better than the interior, but it's different, and they say a change is as good as a rest.
He unfurls his umbrella and extends it overhead, peering up at the grey ceiling of the sky from under the black canopy. He and his company seem content to leave one another in peace for a brief while, but the part of him which resents incomplete knowledge of any given situation is always striving for improvement.
"Is it always this dreary?"
He once read an interview with a sociologist who claimed that Englishmen talk about the weather as a kind of social grooming activity, merely to test the waters for other conversation. He can't say he disagrees.
no subject
The rain is familiar - he's been based in London his entire adult life, after all - but the air is dense and oppressive, without the promising static of an oncoming storm. It's not especially better than the interior, but it's different, and they say a change is as good as a rest.
He unfurls his umbrella and extends it overhead, peering up at the grey ceiling of the sky from under the black canopy. He and his company seem content to leave one another in peace for a brief while, but the part of him which resents incomplete knowledge of any given situation is always striving for improvement.
"Is it always this dreary?"
He once read an interview with a sociologist who claimed that Englishmen talk about the weather as a kind of social grooming activity, merely to test the waters for other conversation. He can't say he disagrees.