concrete

as i walked upon the wet concrete with a spring in my step, the light from warm streetlamps and the full moon intertwined, showing me my way; gracefully. i glanced to my right to see restaurants ready for closing, taking their last orders from a couple of customers after an undoubtedly busy day for business. to my left were headlights heading home. i imagined that behind the wheels, the drivers' pockets were surely heavy with success. as my earphones sang my favorite song to me and the last bus waited at the rainy red light, i let my thoughts run free. the red light turned amber, then finally green.

soon enough, my feet almost automatically took me to the end of the street, and the vibe that comes around after a day like today dissipated from the air. my path was no longer illuminated. it took a second for my eyes to adjust. i'd chosen the fast way home that night: mainly so i could get home and out of this rain A.S.A.P, but also because it had been a while since i'd taken that quicker route. the song i was listening to had become a sort of unnoticeable background anthem to my thoughts, so i was surprised when, in the brief interlude after one song ends but before another begins, it was replaced by the noise of raindrops joining puddles on the ground. usually that sound is peaceful; this time it sounded harsh. 

while the rain kept descending from the saturated clouds that now swallowed the full moon, sounds from the televisions in the flats next to me crept through the walls. i looked up at the building to my right, and each window was lit with different coloured lights and draped with different curtains; each expressing a completely different vibe. even the concrete walls had character; the graffiti that somebody had clearly tried and failed to remove, combined with the expected markings of age, told the story of the block of flats. some window-sills were alive with flowers and leaves, others had balconies; on them, i saw a few people smoking their last cigarettes in the cold rain. washing lines held clothes that were doing everything except drying in this weather. all of these signs of separate people, living separate lives, all on one walk down a couple blocks. it was as if the very streets that i was walking on were communicating with the world; to hear their testimonies, the simple price was attention. 

the next song on my playlist finally began, and i was snapped out of my trance. or, perhaps, re-entered it. 

^ some masterpiece ^