Endless numbered days

Gustav ushered in some relief. She found herself sitting on the roof overlooking a verdant backyard in the morning light. The house was a giant centennial thing sectioned charismatically into apartments where the rising sun made the eggshell blue walls seem crisp and playfully painted sheets of paper inviting. They talked about the things that they were wont to talk about once more before parting for a season. Having trimmed one another's hair and shared clove cigarettes and a great deal of simple human affection. Lying on the rug next to the record player the night before, she observed a true difference in the sound of a vinyl. It filled the room, as though it had a presence. She wanted to string these tranquil moments together like beads, to wear them around her neck wherever she went as a rosary of small moments of bliss. With great reluctance, she tread down the fire escape.