May 14, 2013 § Leave a comment
Walking the quiet, empty streets, windows watching me. Reflection in shards and geometric isolation: streaks of pane less glass, graffiti carved clean. Not like home.
Here it’s clothes, specialty services, more clothes. More, more. Not enough. More.
Bank after bank as the walk continues. Laughs from a candle flicked bar. Middle Eastern smoke and coffee. The glow of smartphones from unseen faces: “Where did Maja go?” an elderly slur says, or something like it.
Empty streets, the quiet, walking. Princess gowns and boyish shoes for men on altars, red laces falling, hair dyeing onto mirror distorted images to brown leather wingtips, fashionably scuffed as part of the presentation.
Empty streets, the walking quiet gilding soft light, blinking red crosswalks. An oily man in shopping cart black. His sweat trail in the night air aroma like it belongs: swirling in jasmine and gasoline. Has he just come out from under derricks and gushers?
Brought back by bright lights and headless mannequins wrapped in finery. Back to walking the boutiques and quiet exotic names. The mirth of wealth empty, filling the stroll for all and no one to see ’til next morning when I’m back home, again. Alone.