This road I walk on stretches itself amidst two-storey buildings. It rains almost every single day, but I’m now used to it. And the gusts of cold wind, the prismatic northern sea that roars as soon as October dawns; I’m used to them. Accostumated. Winter as a tomb, desolated, an impending doom upon Aberdeen ancient tugboats. An impending doom. An impending doom, an impending death…