The cloud-mottled midnight sky stretches far above the lights of the city.
From my car, traversing the high way between my home and my job guarding a warehouse filled with men’s underwear and tee shirts, I can see the lights of downtown fly past.
Oh such a multitude!
A vast array of twinkling, shining lights, pinpointing the city in the gloom.
The traffic lights in perfect rows as far as my vision extends, blinking first red, then green in a ceaseless dance of late night traffic. The traffic.
Not the frenzied, frantic motions of the daylight hours, but something altogether more subtle.
Headlights, some white, some blue, green or pink, some blindingly bright, others falling at the other end of the spectrum, lead the way, carving out of the darkness, great tunnels, through which the tired travelers find their way.
Tunnels sealed shut again by the taillights and blaring red brake lights.
I flick my eyes upward, hundreds of feet, to settle on the buildings themselves.
They glow with white hot light. Windows, one next to another, floor by floor, like great angular eyes, staring down with indifference.
Here and there, lights of other colors burn.
I can see a neon sign, of red and blue, indicating the entrance to some bar. “Aero” something I think it said.
There is a single purple light, down near the ground. Can’t think what that could be. I leave the purple light as it disappears behind me.
I contemplate the twin rows of street lights, ranging from what can only be called pale peach to what is positively orange, and the solitary vehicle running between them, heading east. It’s a blue car, that’s all I can tell from here. At least, I think it’s blue. Hard to tell in this light.
The harsh lights of the oncoming traffic snap me out of my revere and then the lights of the city fade into the rear view mirror, as I make for home, with its mismatched porch lights.