Autumn's languid grace settles on the city as it always has. Fluid blood and molten gold, the performers up for that once last bow before the curtain finally falls.
Night comes sooner. The sun turns her face from her children, as she can't bear to see them suffer in the cold. Devoid of warmth and comfort, they turn to incandescence. Streetlights to fill the void darkness created.
As twilight descendes, the city shivers into life, flashing neon, smoke and trash. But one waits above it all on a rain scoured rooftop, cigarette lit against the chill inside and out.
She watches him drive away in an old battered car, and calls to him, though a strangled sob snags in her throat.
Time never stops, life doesn't wait, the taxi's roll on, and the day begins anew. But up on that rain scoured rooftop, as the driver in the old battered car speeds away, a tiny light is snuffed out.
I hate the fall...