The-Dimly-Lit-Pub

The air at dawn has no oxygen in it. Here in the city streets, before people, before life, I smell a mixture of beetroot, eucalyptus and wet dirt. That’s all. No oxygen molecules to taint the freshness, the absence of life or to feed my brain. I’m feeling numb and can’t move my legs anymore; I’m switching off but as I sniff the immaculate masterpiece that is nature without us I think of what he once wrote: “To think is to be sick in the eyes.”