Instalment One Hundred and Fifty Three

It was the kind of a day that made people want to do better.

Be better.

It had come from nowhere, predicted by none of the weather seers. What was meant to be a frosty early spring day had been trumped by a balmy tropical beach honeymoon afternoon that escaped to the city for a change of scenery.

A gift of a day.

Each person warmed by the rays or refreshed by the breeze knew they were lucky to receive the unseasonal gift. They sucked in a deep breath and thought to themselves, “I need to be the kind of person that deserves a day like this. I’ve got to try harder.”
Unseasonable.
The shy of work swore they would knuckle down, get a job and save some money. Starting tomorrow.

Students begged teachers for class on the oval.
Office drones updated resumes.
CEOs gazed out floor to ceiling windows across their city promising themselves they would try and take the kids out on the boat this weekend.
It was a day bought and paid for by Promise, who lived to produce such gifts for people. Beautiful boxes topped with bows. Empty boxes of course, that you must fill yourself.

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