It was nearing dark when Luciano finally returned home to the small apartment above the Chinese restaurant in which he lived. It was a humble place, with clean white walls that were barely decorated, save for a few carefully selected paintings that were set in a horizontal line across one particular wall. The canvases were not large; only eight inches across and down, and each one was specific in their colour schemes, watercolor paint splashed meaningfully across the surface.
Luciano did not usually like to display his paintings (he did not paint for anyone other than himself, after all, and found it largely irritating to have his paintings in full view of those who would critique it to their liking), but these were special in the way that he was not really all that proud of them. A strange fact, considering they were in full view of anyone who came into the apartment - but since this was such a small number, it did not really matter all that much. Luciano had hung the paintings in order to remind himself to strive harder towards what he wanted to accomplish within himself.
...he was not entirely certain what exactly that was.
It was a quiet life here - perhaps an odd term for one that lived within a bustling, loud, noisy city, but Luciano kept to himself most of the time and did not ever feel the need to move farther than his own circle with which he had placed himself. He went about his business quietly and unassumingly, making his rounds around the city like he did every day; half to observe and gain inspiration from, half to pick up new supplies. To others, it might have seemed a tedious, mundane excursion to make every day, but Luciano found he liked the repetitive motions of each day.
At least, he thought he did - and for the most part, he was still satisfied with his life.
But...was the satisfaction enough? Could one really survive on merely being satisfied with their life, rather than pushing forward to something more than what it was?
Luciano did not know the answers to these questions - nor was he certain that he even wanted to know. But his life had recently adopted a rather dull quality to it that he was not entirely sure that he wanted. It seemed as though he were stuck in slow motion, even going so far as to move backwards, rather than forwards. He moved throughout his days as though on a conveyor belt, doing everything exactly the same.
It was starting to get tiring. Not only that, but it was rather dismal, coming home to the same white, empty walls and empty apartment. Luciano had not a clue as to how relationships worked romantically, but perhaps he could buy a pet of some sort in order to merely keep him company.
Though he didn't really know how that would work either...
So instead, he kept about his day, repeating the motions as he always had.
