How...appropriate

The morning sky was sulky and the air a tepid heaviness that hung as I stepped outdoors.

The escalators in the stations had cunningly switched themselves, and the tracks now ran, not a comfortable escalator’s width away, but gaped instead; a closed emptiness just over the side of my slowly descending steps.

The buckle popped off my pants as I got up to board the train, and I spent the day wearing a bulldog clip at my waist, scratchy and conspicuous.

I stepped out of the office to find continued petulance had descended into large drippy tears which soaked my shoes, rendered my freshly-washed clothes cold and clingy and left a steamy, musty smell of damp wherever people were.

I was starving when I reached home, and had forgotten half the things I was meant to buy on the way, which made me pout (no one noticed).

Clammy, gloomy, brooding Monday – so typical it was uncanny.