Hiya folks! Well, it took a while, but I finally came up with a plot to incorporate all those random scenes I'd been writing for this final installment, so I figure the first little bit is ready for its premiere. Put your pokey sticks away, eat your burning marshmallows, sit back, relax, and enjoy.

He sat with his feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on the windowsill, the hugely tall double inner windows open inwards, creating a frame around him as he sat in the armchair, leaning back comfortably and staring out over the rain swept city.

The storm beat down on the old outer sash window that couldn't be opened more than a few inches for safety. It rattled the aging pane every time a bus thundered past, shaking the rain drops that trickled down the glass in syncopated, stop-start motions. He smoked his cigarette as he took in the urban scenery.

In the upper floor modernised bar and restaurant across the street with the interior lit starkly against the gloom of the overcast evening, the people inside were all young, carefree, chattering students with time to socialise, marking a university town in vacation time. All of them sat in twos or more, smiling and laughing, apart from one, who sat alone reading a book with no food or drink, immersed, all having no idea that a lone, dark character was watching them as he enjoyed the weather. Next door was the office of The Samaritans, and inside there was a woman sitting in the unlit office, meandering around with lazy paperwork, waiting for the phone to ring. A colleague arrived and the lights went on, and the blind was drawn shut, though whether they had seen him watching or not, he couldn't tell. He looked down on both domains from his second floor hotel room. Behind the office was a more modern street, raised up so that from his vantage point he still see at ground level the heads of people rushing to get in from the rain as they embarked from their train at the small station, with trains running every few minutes in and out along the track, disappearing out of view to his left.

Tiring of other people, he crossed his ankles the other way to alleviate the ache from the windowsill pressing into his flesh, and began mindlessly watching the street lamp in front of his window; raindrops fell onto the circular shade that served to protect the glass ovoid containing the bulb, and as the surface became too crowded, latecomers were forced to fall over the side, hanging for a second in liquid icicles before plummeting to the ground, too fast to see.

The rain abated somewhat, but the cold air seeping in through the poorly fitted outer window continued, becoming too chilly for his liking, so he stubbed out his cigarette, stood, closed and latched the windows, staring up at their height just short of the tall ceiling as he did so, pushed the chair back to its original position, and got changed for dinner.