CitrusCloud

A girl in a black coat with long dark hair waited at the entryway to an inconsequential hotel, seated atop a wooden post overlooking a series of steps leading to the sidewalk. Dusk had begun its slow descent over the town and the ground started to collect a light dusting of snow. Sounds of scraping chairs, laughter, and clinking glass filtered out into the street as an elderly lamplighter walked by and dropped his ladder to the ground, nearly stumbling over it. “Mr. Beaton,” said the girl while she looked towards the lamplighter, who merely turned his head before getting up and plodding forward in a turtle-like fashion. “Be