She lingered after hours so that she could stalk through midnight alleyways on her way home. She loved the smells seeping from those dusty corners. She loved the small creatures which shared her nocturnal inclinations. She ran her fingers across a greasy doorknob, a damp stone wall, a rusty trashcan. Collecting bits of mildew and funk. Delicate and beautiful as she was, these granules of the underside made a warrior of her. An unconquerable force. A cascade of soulful streetlight tried to catch her in its grip. But she danced out of its reach, and strode farther into the night.
1 comment:
Reminds me of the second stanza of T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock:"
"The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep."
Only a lot more, you know, creepy!
ericp
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