While he runs, he glances in at the warm, yellow light of kitchens and bedrooms, of lives lived together in small, urban spaces. He longs to have what those people have, but feels himself distinctly outside and separate from that kind of life.
This does not make Fraser feel sorry for himself, not as such. Rather, to briefly look in on such warmth, from the outside, as he dashes past through cool autumn air -- it feels safe to know that such a life can never be his.
Well, the recognition of this feels like a kick in the gut.
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This does not make Fraser feel sorry for himself, not as such. Rather, to briefly look in on such warmth, from the outside, as he dashes past through cool autumn air -- it feels safe to know that such a life can never be his.
Well, the recognition of this feels like a kick in the gut.