Mar 29, 2015
scrapped bit of writing
All afternoon, the sky had been crackling with lightning in strains of gold and white.
Black clouds rolled in with the furious gait of wild horses, overtaking that bright blue sky that had been forecast with such surety. With the darkness that had been cast over the city, it was hard to distinguish between the stark grey of the Brutalist skyscrapers and those marauding clouds that seemed to roil in mindless hatred.
It did not rain.
And below the merging of sky and scraper, under the pop art neon and vivid fluorescence that flickered on like lighthouses in the fog, below the hustle and the bustle of people preparing umbrellas and fleeing home—
A newcomer strolled the streets.