Wrapped Up Squirrels

Nothing was bright, nothing was nice. The walk home however was pleasant. There was something there, something nice. If it was a sickness, it was an odd variety, and he had not drank any more than usual or smoked any cigarettes - they often left him light-headed. Something was in his head, something big. Looking out of the window he caught a glimpse of a squirrel, it darted through the trees making a hasty retreat from some foreign presence, within a second it disappeared into the canopy of bare winter branches. Temporary distractions were a gift...sleep, a haven. No man could live like this, at least not survive to be the same.