the incessant ticking of a clock is keeping you awake. you didn't even know of a mechanical clock in your room, yet its clicks saturate the air around you, mesmerizing you. where was it again? must be somewhere up there, in the shelves where you never look. or maybe it was right under your nose?
out of your window, a spectacular gradient forms. at the horizon, or however close you can get, the sky takes on a grey yellow - as grey as yellow can get. further up, it slowly becomes this sullen, nostalgic blue. the squawking and squeaking of seagulls interrupts your chromatic contemplation, and instead redirects you to the noise of blinds opening, rattling and old, at the hands of equally agè people. dogs bark, birds chirp, the whole realm of Animalia wakes up.
Good morning, town. It's six ante-meridian.