#Let's jusf say Gale teaches in England here and NOT Berkeley.

[recitedemise]

He exits the bookstore, a little hole in the wall like some well-kept secret. It's dark already, the season trudging slow through the claws of winter, and Gale's every mind to scurry to his humble home. He eyes the stars, however—then there, a single man.

"If you don't my saying so, you've the look of wanderlust to you. A beautiful word, that. It may be the sentiments of the hour, but I'd always believed it carried a flavor of nostalgia. An incessant desire to brave those roads untrodden—for what else is a man if not a creature of adventure? Or more importantly still, thrilling discovery?" Huh. Well, for such an unbidden comment, surely, perhaps this stranger minds quite a lot. Goodness. Gale blinks, catching himself after his peculiar spiel. He could fluster for it, blame his gracelessness for that year in solitude, but it'd hardly do now to begin whinging, would it? Almost timidly, he grins and musters a laugh. "But that's merely an observation," he scrabbles together with all the charm of an awkward boy. "There are far better places to gaze onto our cosmos than Dagenham, I can confirm—no offense, of course, though I'd be remiss not to share it all the same." / @cragsnow ♡'d.