two hundred

Music was streaming out the speakers, "we're just killing time all over this place," and I ran my finger across the dashboard picking up dust and memories on to my finger. If I took a closer look I could probably see a flashback to five years ago; someone else would be in the passenger seat with her legs propped up, windows open, hair blowing, and suntan lotion fingerprints smudged on the window. He would glance over with a wistful smile wondering what happens after this and watches while she pulls her hair up into a ponytail.
Everything in morning seems so innocent.  The group of men shuffling down the sidewalk, weathered by the summer sun, laughing and joking about adventures long forgotten, or the kid on the skateboard whizzing past with his headphone speakers blaring and a binder tucked under his arm thinking about his first week at school. I make eye contact with a lady holding a shopping bag, her eyes quickly look away, but I can tell she was amused by Huxley nipping at my ankles and chasing after the beetle that scurries across the pavement.

Fast forward nine hours and the street lamp lights are flickering over the U-haul parking lot casting shadows that imitate monsters I remember under my bed. It just stopped raining, but the air is so thick I can feel it wrap around my body like a heavy blanket.  I hear a shout from the distance and I tighten the leash around my wrist and a breeze picks up catching the little hairs on my arms. I smell trash and oil, and I can see a dark figure hustling down the street carrying a box or garbage bag.  He drops something metal and it clatters on the cement, his head turns to my direction and I quickly duck my head and walk the other way.  The night is not so innocent.  

It reminds me of the changing seasons or the shift in someone's character. It is so black and white, but blends unnoticeable in the shades of grey.  I miss the mornings where I had faith in humanity and no one scoffed at the notion of a person being good.  Now I must place my head in the darkness waiting for the worst, and when it doesn't happen and everything is fine, people move on.  But me, I hold on to that light, cupping it in my hands watching it glow until it slowly burns out.

photos by lucie & simon