as told to (your name here)

Dave isn't real

1:30AM-
The streets aren't quite deserted, but I am about as alone as possible in a city this size. It's not dark. It never gets dark, and it's not the fault of individual street lights, there's always reflected light in the clouds from the accumulated lights of the streets and buildings. Neither is it quiet. There's a distant hum from a generator used to power a blinking street-detour sign. A truck idling behind a restaurant as the night crew unloads supplies. Every few minutes, a distant siren. The low indeterminate rumble of a train, somewhere off in the distance, passing through. There's even a faint click as the traffic signals cycle through their pattern, halting and permitting no one. All of the sounds, distant. It hasn't rained in a while, but a low pressure system over here and a high pressure system over there have conspired with the wind to draw moisture and humidity from elsewhere. Also just passing through. The only smell is that of the humidity, simultaneously foreign and all too familiar. It has taste as well, but not the kind sensed with tongue or palate. It's heavy without being stifling, but the stifling-kind sits perched on the horizon, waiting for summer. Otherwise, there is no touch. The wind tickles the hairs on my arms, on my legs, on my neck. Not a satisfying touch though, not a connection. Not a sense, because I'm about as alone as possible in a city this size.

There I was in the middle of it all...

posted by tinyhands @ 11:59 PM