The gale carried cold rain, beating against the glass with a drum-like intensity, as if a bunch of damned lunatics were happily knocking on your window to wake you up.
But it was the dead of night, and Lorenzo's room was on the second floor.
Lorenzo awoke slowly, perhaps because he had returned to a familiar place. After a short rest, the weariness on his body had lessened significantly. He hadn't drawn the curtains, and the light from the street lamps outside barely illuminated his room. He sat up slowly and, after a moment of absent-mindedness, suddenly felt a ghostly sense of solitude.
Some people often say, don't nap alone at home; once you oversleep, awakening slowly at dusk and staring at a dim, empty room inevitably brings a sorrowful sadness.
