Sixty Lights

From the library he wandered up the hill and through the oldest park the city had to offer, along one of the streets bisecting the university campus, down into the gully and up the steep wooded hill on the other side leading into the Domain.  He took the opportunity presented by this trek to stretch the muscles of his thighs and buttocks to the limit, clenching and relaxing all the way up until the path levelled out again.  The air was warm and humid, and his uniform of skinny jeans and t-shirt was soon moist and clinging with sweat.  At the top he detoured around the duck ponds and past the soaring old glass structures that were home to the winter gardens, then across the sports fields, up yet another hill then dropping down again into Newmarket, threading through the streets until he arrived at work.  Having made it with an hour to spare,  he sat out on the balcony delving quickly into the book he had just checked out less than an hour before.  He devoured the first seven chapters in half an hour, and decided to save something for later.  Eventually the coffee guy came, asking him to make two flat whites just to confirm that what he had been taught the previous week had paid off, which it had of course, this now being the only part of the job he enjoyed.  He mentioned how his friend in another country had been inspired by his excited chatter about coffee and in reply was told that he could make almost double his current wage by moving there to make coffee for a living.  He was becoming more and more tempted by the idea every day.  After all, what exactly was keeping him here?

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