An Ordinary Night In The City

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. The dark moon rose, casting it’s black light down onto the city. People on the street were busy with the titter-tat of nightly living. They hardly noticed the sky. The streets were wavy and the buildings swayed. The city was alive with motion and commotion. It was a night like any other ordinary night.

I crept about like an animal on the prowl. Stealthy, silent as a hunting owl. Up the steps to the brick black road, harnessing the power of an angry milked toad. Above me rose a psychedelic tree, I climbed on up to better see. What was cast before my eyes? A shadow filled with lies, a clever disguise for those who hide, but I have eyes.

On the corner by the coffee shop, the shadows bend in a way they should not. A secret portal perhaps? That would be sly. But I decide I should not pry. What is this the other way? The city fountain calls my name. I slip down the tree and across the park, I know my way through the dark. I lap the water sweet and cool as darkness shines on the purple pool.

I hear a sound, what could it be? My ears prick razor sharp. A hum, a buzz, a wooden bee. It flies right past me. A light in the distance catches my eye, as I get closer it subsides. I quickly turn around to see another light coming straight at me! I trip over the rail and fall to the side just as the train passes me by. It stops as I get off the ground, I climb aboard but no seat can be found. As people push me to and fro, a burly man deals me a glancing blow. Or was it? I don’t know.

I stumble off at the very next stop, find myself near the coffee shop. On the corner a hungry man sings. I trust anybody who plays the strings. I sit nearby and start to cry, though I don’t know why.

“Man, you look awful,” said he, “c’mon, lemme buy you a cuppa coffee.”

The drink was dark and very hot. I drank it down though I thought I should not.

“You got a place to stay?” He said. “Well, you can come wit me, but I ain’t got no bed.”

Round the corner in the alley we went, he stopped half way down, stooped and bent, placed some cardboard and a piece of foam. “Here it is, home sweet home.”

Though the alley was dark and rank, this man’s kindness was to be thanked. With my friend beside me, I slept soundly for hours. I awoke next day to light rain showers. My head was foggy and things were unclear. I was glad my friend was still near. But why was he here? I went to wake him to thank him again, but he didn’t move, he didn’t pretend. Then much to my chagrin, I noticed his blood soaked skin. He’d been stabbed, they took his strings and I’d slept through the whole damn thing.

What to do? Should I call the cops? They’d think I’d done it though I had not. I looked upon my friend with despair, this man was a saint, did no one care? Hearing sirens I started to fear. I jumped the fence to get out of here. I spent the day wandering to and fro. I guess I messed up, I dunno. But from here on out, I would make things right. No more purple clouds on a blushing night. I’d get a job and get me some strings, play on a street corner for money and things. Then if one day I meet someone like me, I’ll get them some coffee and a safe place to sleep.