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The light drizzle never changed, but did stop for hours at a time, before continuing again. By the time he could see the lights of the town in the distance, he was decisively damp. It was twilight, that liminal period between night and day, and everything was bathed in a surreal, purple light. Jacob had no idea how it came to be, but purple was the best description he could think of. The clouds were light and dark and covered the whole sky. The wind didn't blow very strongly. The final approach to the town was a boring and long one. Jacob was tired from walking, tired of the rain, and had gotten hungry again. He wanted to be there already, he didn't want to walk any longer. But there was nothing else to it but to walk. So he walked, dodging puddles on the road, trying to keep himself distracted from the hurt in his knees and hip and legs and shoulders. The streetlights around him started lighting up, even though it was still far from dark. Perhaps it was the clouds. In this part of the country, the lights were white, not yellow, but in the gloom they mostly looked anaemic and lifeless. Jacob noticed several lights that had gone out down the road, but he had no way of telling if they had been dead only for a few weeks, or a few months. In the distance, he could see the lights of the town itself, the billboards, the highrises, the streets.