It was 11:30 PM when he made his last cup of coffee, stirring in the creamer while the rain pelted his kitchen window.
It was the wind that sent sheets of rain, lashing out in waves again and again. He was glad to be home.
It wasn’t much of an apartment but it was peaceful. Dimly lit, he kept only 2 lights on, like his father had taught him.
Should he read the paper? He headed for his chair. He realized nobody really read the paper anymore, did they? He decided instead to get out his travel book – the one on Ireland.
Someday he wouldn’t be working 18 hour shifts at the hospital anymore.
It was 12:10 AM when he fell asleep in his chair, the book still open on his lap, as he dreamed of a cottage by the sea.
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