Setting, moonlit night. Wednesday.
The world is asleep. Walking along a road, a solitary figure. Everything but the road and the figure, shrouded in night. As if only the two exist. Through the blackness, countless seemingly blinking lights. Hills and skies blend in the same shades of black and gray. Peace.
The silence is pierced. Another sentient being, riding a motorcycle, passes by. The peaceful mode is almost lost. Steel, oil and flames. A strong contrast. Then the sound fades, the feeling returns. Peace, again.
It's barely past regular bedtime. A Friday or Saturday, and there'd be crowds. "The night is still young". Drunk crowds. Not that it matters. Walking in the moonlight, too tired to think properly, but still attempting to do so.
Houses, darker on the inside than the outside. One window still showing light, gamma rays from a computer screen. A middle-aged man, watching what he's no longer able to participate in. The night be his judge. Blackness, interrupted by street lights. A frame of leaves show a tear in reality, from where the sound of running water emerges. By day, just a stream.
I tire.
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