The city was empty. It was early Saturday morning, the sky was grey and rain fell lightly. Almost imperceptibly. This was his favourite time. It felt like the entire city belonged to him. He would wander down abandoned streets, look into windows of the closed shops, sometimes he would even sing out.
He started humming loudly as he walked. A pigeon heard him and thumped his wings and took off, landing a few feet away.
He hopped over a puddle next to the curb and sang out load. "They call me mister Pitiful, baby that's my name."
This is freedom, he thought, this is the one moment that makes living in this crowded city bearable.
He kept walking and singing and turned the corner.
Half a block away, a girl walked away from him. Her thick hair bobbed as she stepped. He stopped singing. Something picked at his ears. He inched closer to her, and heard her singing.
All too often when I'm walking alone, I get the Itch to sing and feel the utter freedom of letting myself get caught absolutly in the moment. Unfortunatly, thats normally when someone comes walking around the corner. Clearly what I need is a midnight city. The story, and the writing, was beautiful.
I love this. I've had a similar experience often: walking in the dawning hours, in the drizzle, and the growing light.
Thanks Galen. Getting featured was the snap in my suspenders I needed yesterday.
I think this site is like a power juicer to the armadillo-skinned oranges of writer's block.
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The city was empty.