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Apr. 10th, 2010 04:46 amOn my way home from the last overnight of the week (though I have 2 next week), and I have to say, 4:30 is a bizarre time to be off work. The streets are deserted, save for the ocassional piece of trash creeping along with each solemn gust of wind- the rhythem is startingly like footsteps, giving me pause more than once. Daftpunk's Robot Rock is blaring out of the iphone's speaker as I type this, calming those jitters walking home at bizarre hours always brings.
The wind gusts are picking up, violently hammering trees into the signs I walk under; there are no cars on Winchester, save for the cop that just pulled into 7-11. Every house is dark and still-- there are no signs of life, save for the chill press of wind, tossing new bangs to and fro.
The streets are not dark, boldly lit golden as all street lights in the South Bay are. It is a small comfort in this wind, which is growing stronger as I near home.
There are more cars now, a yawning cyclist who waved as he passed. He is braver than I-- the wind is strong enough to warrent riding with both hands.
My walk home ends to "The Resolution," heart calm now that I am home-- warm, safe and sound.
The wind gusts are picking up, violently hammering trees into the signs I walk under; there are no cars on Winchester, save for the cop that just pulled into 7-11. Every house is dark and still-- there are no signs of life, save for the chill press of wind, tossing new bangs to and fro.
The streets are not dark, boldly lit golden as all street lights in the South Bay are. It is a small comfort in this wind, which is growing stronger as I near home.
There are more cars now, a yawning cyclist who waved as he passed. He is braver than I-- the wind is strong enough to warrent riding with both hands.
My walk home ends to "The Resolution," heart calm now that I am home-- warm, safe and sound.
