21 Sep 2010

Smoke

It's a cold, miserable night at the southern tip of Africa and the only thing keeping me from choking is the thick cloud of smoke surrounding me. I stare out across the city and her lights remind me of sitting in a plane, stuck in a holding pattern before landing at Heathrow. The city looks alive, bursting with promise, opportunity and despair.  From my perfect vantage point, I look out across the bay and smile at the hundreds of little red and white lights as they skilfully avoid the bigger, much brighter yellow ones. 

Then the air becomes hazy and the crisp, clear lights become blurred and for a brief moment, I feel like one of them. The stale whiskey taste lingers long after another drag of my cigarette is exhaled, but for some reason, I feel brighter, things are clear. Although her lights seem to be dimmed, I know it's simply a front, she's alive down there. She never sleeps, like me. 

We have a lot in common you and I, it's like I've known you my whole life.

Over
Rick

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