Taciturnal

The city seems to be trembling with nerves, blinking, smoking, and jaywalking. It's easy to lose count of breaths and phrases in it, especially when someone nearby makes you a little less sane. The traffic lights are blazing like flares between "stay" and "forget it," and it feels like every movement here is a small challenge to order. The air is filled with the sound of asphalt and promises that didn't last until morning. Everything shimmers: the windows, eyes, gasoline on the puddles. There's a strange tenderness in this tremor, as if the nite itself doesn't know how it will end. Just as long as it doesn't get light too early.