It’s almost alive, this city. At least, it used to be. Green-leaved trees, interspersed, like small pauses between the breaths that made up the concrete sidewalks. Children playing outside in the park, people walking their dogs, the whole bit. In the Winter, snowflakes would fall to our coats, almost protecting us. At night, the crisp sound of fireplaces could be heard, crackling while we made hot cocoa and told each other stories about our days. We had families. Jobs. Homes. Cars. We had Lives.
But not anymore. We don’t play outside anymore. We don’t stroll down the concrete sidewalks, basking in the glow of high noon. We don’t walk our dogs, or feel the refreshing cool of a new Winter. Our fireplaces burn, incinerating what’s left of the hope that used to drive this city. Not that I go home anymore… I haven’t seen the comfort of my bed in weeks.
It’s a dreary night in the city, as if there is any other kind. Autumn. Flecks of dust and grime coat the buildings in an effort to shield the lonely hiding within. Nowadays, the fearful hide themselves away, indoors, while lost souls wander aimlessly outside. It’s not pretty, but then how could it be? Not if you’ve been here long enough to see the things I’ve seen. Been through the things I’ve been through. No, nowadays the only thing that comforts me is the sweet embrace of the whiskey glass in my hand. The burning in my throat and stomach as I empty the glass. Reload. The welcome stench of smokes and filth fills my nose. The numbing racket of clinging glasses in my ears. They try to hide it behind fake smiles and forced toasts, but they’re dying too. Dying, slowly, like the rest of this hellhole of a town. It’s alright; I know why they do it. Trying to maintain a semblance of a normal life is noble, and far be it for me to call them out on it. It’ll catch up with them soon anyway, as they tuck themselves into their beds and the nightmares come back like hostile memories fighting to get out.
I’ll sit here for a few more minutes, listen to the moan of the saxophone on the radio, let it take me away from this place for a few moments more. Then I’ll go back. Back to where it all started. Back to where this urban paradise disappeared, leaving a cold shell behind. A poorly-placed imposter. Maybe this malevolent pretender will do away with me after I’m done. But not yet. Tonight, I need to finish what I started. I need to wash my hands of this mess. Here’s to hoping I get that far.
Time to go; that was the end of my last drink of the night. I wave good-bye to the barkeep, tipping him well. Well enough for some crappy whiskey and a place to sit my ass for a few hours. Who knows, this could be the last night I show my face in this place. Could be the last time I show my face anywhere. If only I could be so lucky. I put on my coat to leave, and light up as the door closes behind me. “These things can kill ya’”, she used to say to me. Yeah, well, there are worse things than death.
It’s raining hard out tonight, but I guess that’s to be expected. I take the corner, stopping briefly to stare at the moon between the tall, looming buildings. It stares back for a moment, then begins to retreat behind the cover of the dark-blue clouds. Even the moon doesn’t want to look at this place. Or maybe it just knows what’s about to happen.
I continue walking, the dim glow of the street-lights flickering erratically. Like pauses between the stressful breathes that make up the broken concrete sidewalks. I try to remember back to a time when things mattered. To a time before the bar. Before this city swallowed me whole and left me to rot inside it. I get there for a moment, then cross the street and it’s gone. Oh well. Almost there now.
