Grey clouds take over the sun, plunging the city into a premature night. Streetlights flutter on, like reluctant children being rudely awaken.
Hunched on a park bench, I watch moths surrendering to the flames, and flinch with each crackle and sizzle. If I stand on tip-toe, balancing on the back of the seat, I can Just. About. Reach. The lamp shutter, still ajar from earlier attempts to touch the light, taunts me to stretch a little higher.
Examining my black, singed fingertips, I wonder why I can’t feel any pain, only to conclude I have already slipped into darkness.