She looked out the window.
Although she couldn’t see it, the sun was setting, and it signified its retreat with a four-sided glowing orange on the wall opposite her. Her window was slightly open, and she could just smell the autumn air. The autumn weather was paradoxical in that it was crisp like new, but also an agent in the celebration of nostalgia. It was probably because it was so crisp like new that fall afternoons can be remembered so well in later years.
And the weather accentuated every sound. She lived within her modest means, and so she found her apartment well-acquainted with the sounds of life flowing through the city’s mechanical veins. The noises floated into her room, and since nostalgia always sets in with the air, the sounds that accompany it consequently become congenial as well.
