The gloam suggested shadow conspiracies, political intrigue and backroom deals,
But not for me.
The air, wet with anticipation of cloudburst, argued for more.
My left foot seemed to fall more heavily than my right,
Keeping a metronome rhythm on the paved path.
My thoughts drifted back to last night,
And I could hear her voice again.
It seemed to drift out of a darkness spoiled only by the red amber of a cigarette being smoked on a porch across the street.
"The allure of youth is not about beauty; it is about awe and wonderment. That is where they get it wrong."
I found this photo on deviantART and thought it went well with this entry.
The Working Man by *slatkatajna on deviantART