An Opening to an Unknown Novel

I have a yearning to write a longer work - a short story or perhaps a not so short one. I struggle with discovering a plot. This was written as a sort of first page to a novel that has no direction.

The just-not-quite-yet Spring month of March in Boston was typically cold, dreary, and ever so frustrating to anyone who, for God's sake, wished that Summer would just hurry itself up and get here already. It certainly wasn't warm and sunny June, nor without question was it even approaching devastatingly chilly January. Rather, it was their awkward middle sibling, a mishmosh and a hodgepodge of fluctuating temperatures and varying humidities where people would come out for some parades and things, but never just to mill about.

On the contrary, this particular March day seemed about as perfect as a not-quite Spring day could be. It was just past temperate and the solid gray cloud layer of the day before yesterday had broken up into fluffy white fixtures that adorned a bright blue sky. It was warm enough to wear a light jacket without any discomfort at all - to layer up an outfit without considering for more than a few blinks if it'd keep your person warm.

It was on this day, the loveliest and most extraordinary of all March days, that Lewis decided to bound down the big steps of his brownstone and go for a stroll.

As a matter of fact, he had the day off. It was Good Friday, and a very good Friday it was. At least, Lewis thought so, considering the pleasantly out of place weather. 

Author's Note

I wrote this while in the middle of Neverwhere, my first Gaiman novel. I feel like I've been very influenced by him. I'll be elaborating and adding more to this one, and hopefully continuing it.