The moon is a peachy fuzz coloured lamp, sheltered by soft dark cloud blankets. Somewhere around the corner, a couple of rats squeak in agony (to my disgust), the multitude of their voices multiplying as they reverberate through the brick walls.
I choose to sit on a spot of grating not far off from the neighbourhood dump, fumes of a week’s worth of pizza, old lunch and rotten eggs wafting from the half-closed bin. The stench is nauseating; but I am used to it. About a yard away from me, lies dead, black, and wasted. A blackbird, apparently poisoned by the garbage of which it has religiously vultured upon until its last, sorry breath.
The alleyway is dimly lit by a pityful fluorescent nightlamp motted with houseflies, providing little luminescence, barely illuminating the end of the barren cul-de-sac. This is a safe enough place for me. They won’t find me here. For now, at least.
I dig into my anorak pockets and fish out a damp cigarette. Into my mouth it goes, as I fumble my khakis for a match. I light the cigar, lean back and close my eyes, inhaling deep into oblivion. I feel a sense of relief, almost humor, slipping downwards from my dirt-specked face to my cold chest, the way darkness descends for nightfall.
I open my eyes and puff smoke rings around me. They blur my vision, they blur the sad fluorescent lamp, and for a moment my eyesight is useless… but it’s okay. I have lived in too much danger and hysteria to be disturbed by such trivial physical disturbances. I have warmth in my clothes, and solitude in this cornered dump. I am free in what I have. I am alone… and enjoying every single moment of it.
I close my eyes again, and give in to euphoria.
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