The coffee had gone cold. Again. Sam put down his pen beside his notebook. He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. This was harder than he had had expected.
He had been sitting in the coffee house for the past three hours racking his brain but not one brilliant brainwave had hit him. In the meantime, he had ordered three cups of coffee, all of which had gone cold. His neck now ached. He needed a walk.
He packed his bag, paid the bill and left the coffee house.
Outside the night was cold. He buttoned up his jacket and started strolling towards the park. Very few people were out tonight. The reason was quite obvious. Earlier in the evening, a cyclone warning had been issued. The newsreader had said that this would be the worst that the city had ever experienced since the last decade.
The wind was already chilly but hadn't quite gained the predicted speed. Sam had calculated that it wouldn't be until midnight that the cyclone would actually arrive. Actually, it was rather hope than calculation. And it was still nine o'clock. So he still had three hours all to himself.
Sam worked as a freelance writer for one of the city newspapers as a part time job alongwith being a student in the City College. He was majoring in Arts. Hence writing came naturally to him. But he didn't like to write in his apartment. He found it more like a prison he had to sleep in every night. He always tried his best to stay as much time as possible away from his apartment.
The college library was open till five o'clock in the evening. So he spent most of his after college hours studying or writing in the college library. After the library closed he would hang out in the coffeehouse opposite his apartment building till ten o'clock when he returned.
Everyday it was the same routine.
He was still in his first year and, coming from a middle class family, the moment he landed, he knew he had to find a job. The college administration was a great help. They arranged for him a freelance writing job for a small newspaper. The pay wasn't so good but it was enough for him to rent a small apartment in the rundown portion of the city.
At first, the job wasn't quite demanding and he found it easy to come up with good stories. The main reason was that he had come from a small town and the new city was quite intriguing to him, finding something new to tell everyday. The editor was also quite impressed by his style and his choice of topics. "You're meant for bigger things, my lad," the editor had said. "Someday you will be quite a good reporter. And I hope that you would be working for our newspaper then."
His dream run had gone on for quite a while till he got stuck in a rut. The city didn't impress him anymore. Everything seemed so morbid now. So lame. The city had gone colorless for him now. He tried his best but hadn't been able to come up with anything impressive for the last few weeks. The editor had asked him to take a week off. "Son, you've been working too hard. Take some rest. You'll find your touch again soon I'm sure." Sam knew the editor was just trying to be nice. He had to come up with something marvelous within two weeks. Only two days were left and nothing good still seemed to be on its way.
Except for the storm.
Next: Part Two
