Fade to Black

The streets busy and rustling with the sounds that to the recluse would seem almost unbearable. The the streets that live and breathe, there is something electric here, something that feels strangley like another time and place. A place where women sat with big hats that hid shameful pasts at the bar with their crossed fornicated legs tempting the poor old sap to play her game. She knows all the rules. He loses and she starts again.This place reminds me of present reailty fading to black and white -where the once live streets breathe a slow and purposeful pulse. Where gentleman and ladies were accustomed to being called such. The tip of the hat that bid a good day and a stretch of a hand lent courtesy. I am interrupted by streaks of color that I desperately wish to ignore because this time is peaceful though it feels as though I stand strangely amid chaos. It is kind and though the colors chase me in and out of reality, my soul breathes the same pace as the deliberate pulse that calmly kept alive respect and dignity. And yes, the rustle of the trees are the same, but it is the harsh breeze of polluted streets and indifference that blows past me. I close my eyes so I do not have to feel of see color.

© Alya Landry 2008