My feet have awaken me at poor times. The rains of November tear into a non-existent twilight. I’m on a short mission. My fridge lacks the liquid bread of life. Cities offer quick fixes. I elect not to drive.
Dark dingy buildings look black in the rain. I pull up a collar to a biting breeze. I catch sandstone crests regally marking a bank building that lost its identity and is slowly being divorced from its fire escape. Pity but the yellow tones of the street light make the rust more interesting.
I cross an alley. An urban river of debris floats merrily down the street. Sounds not quite animal cry out to the coming night. Smells run from them, bad rotting smells.
I long for my car now.
Streetlights reach with shadows into the dark wet streets. Cars, far too fast, jockey with one’s too slow. Tires hiss as water flies out of the way. Traffic noises hide behind distant buildings. A lonely siren from beyond sings.
My guiding star. White sign with an old faded sign of Schlitz with what was a bull. They have beer. The journey nears a successful end. The shadows of others circle the area.
In a distant world, it’s a circus of people. Each one a basker. Each one a ringmaster. A trapeze is missing. The lion has been missing on his stool. Maybe their shadows with new ready when I had back.