An Amateur Author's Odyssey to Recognition

I Like To Walk The Streets At Night

It’s not an activity to be encouraged; people watch you apprehensively, and that in turn sets you on edge. But there’s no better way to clear your mind, to make you feel apart yet connected to a greater force than human pettiness, to feel the pull of the night community that populates this shadow world.

In the glow of the street lights the world is closed-in. There is nothing to see above but an inky yellow ceiling. The buildings are walls, the alleys are hallways. The occasional car is an anomaly, a bewildered and bewildering interloper in the wee small hours of the morning. I imagine myself in the eyes of the driver. What business do they think I am on? What a pathetic figure I must make, on this empty sidewalk in the company of shadows.

The city is a dead thing at night, trying vainly to imitate something that lives. The marquee of the theater and the glow of the drive-thru are the only indicators that the city is only sleeping, and come dawn its veins will flow with more pathetic people and thrum with noisy engines and belch noxious fumes.

But by then I’ll be gone, absconded to my room and shield by thick curtains and heavy blankets. Their sunlit, smoggy world holds no comfort for me. I’ll stay here in this microcosm of my shadowy streets, until the glare of street lights outside my window wakes me again. 


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