/lit/ - Literature

The air hung coldly, such that the innards of his coat pockets provided no warmth, but still he held them there. Just as his hands halted pointlessly so did his mind twirl on the spot, floating in and around the same nagging thoughts that besot him with anguish. Only a minute remained before he would enter again through the doors that he had passed by seemingly an infinite amount already. another wasted walk of fruitless thoughts for fruitless memories and fruitless endeavours. At least soon he would feel warmth.

Post a picture and others write a short story about it.