There was no sky that night, no borders for heaven or hell. No stars, no moon, just an empty canvas of grey with a silhouette of nostalgia and regret. The scent of wet pavement and diesel fuel filled the air, frigid gusts of wind scratch through thick winter coats as if they were able to make themselves warm in the cotton threads. The streetlights flicker in sync with the rhythm of the raindrops hitting the pavement. A stray dog sniffs and paws through the garbage in search of a meal that would alleviate his hunger. Dead brown leaves fall lifelessly from their branches, floating, not a clue to where they will land. The neon signs of the liquor store come on with a repulsive glow that burns irises. A group of men stand outside the liquor store door, drowning themselves in their misery disguised in alcohol. A small child sticks out her innocent hand and patiently waits for a raindrop to tap her palm, success. She smiles ever so slightly, full of satisfaction.
Through an unwashed window, the sight of teenagers conversing at a local coffee shop, they speak with bitter torment on their tongues as a deprived youth. The sound of sluggish cars honking at the nonchalant j-walker crossing the middle of the rode drives the construction workers crazy.
Couples walk by hand in hand while the lonely misfit glares with disgust and takes a grudge filled drag of his cigarette. He begins to reminisce, the memories come flooding back and the pain sets in. With a sigh he bids his emotion fatigue farewell. While staring at the ground, he spoke, not a word came out. He screamed, but there was no sound. Defeated and discouraged, he told himself, “Every night is a plane crash, every battle with God I have lost.”
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