S

Streetdancing

The city is singing to me, shouting concrete lullabies into my soul. My footsteps are sure, and I can hear them bouncing back at me off of the building, with the cocksure tone of a child mimicking. Music, sourceless and sweet, pulses in my mind, providing a beat, a cadence for my feet. flickering Neon turns her fair hair into a rainbowed halo about her head as she whips it about. she hears the music too, as clear as I do, if not more so, and she's dancing to it, down this grungy sidewalk, past bars, finally closed, well beyond the drinking hours, and still far from their renewal. but it doesn't feel late. late is an ending, and this doesn't