I decided I’d do a creative writing piece based on a song. Enter my iPod. Put it on shuffle, and the first song that came up was “Waterloo Sunset” by The Kinks. (Click song title to listen)
He sat there in the fading light, dangerously close to the edge of the bridge, legs dangling from the openings in the rusted metal bridge. His arms draped themselves over the top rim, sloppily, like a shirt cast to the floor after a long day at work. He stayed.
He forced himself to look down, over the muddy water. Water, he thought. Water. Water. Water. Whenever his mind would start to wander, he snapped it back into place. Water. Nothing else is important. It’s just you, the metal, and the water. That’s it. He must have been a strange sight, sitting on the bridge at 6pm, his mousy hair tinted titian by the sinking sun, the briefcase casting a long shadow next to him. He shivered. The delicate tremor shook his slender frame, and for a minute he imagined himself old, faded like a black and white photograph. Slowly he pushed himself up, collected his briefcase, and hailed a taxi. He didn’t much like it. The light burned his eyes.
Staggering to the windowsill, he gazed out across the river of people and lights and traffic. I wonder where he is now, he thought. I wonder where She is. He thought he saw her, and him, down on the sidewalk. She embraced him. They kissed.
The man pulled on the white plastic blind, and gently rested his head on it, closing his eyes to the dark room.