23:47 · clearing · borough of low signals
the light is red, has been red, will continue to be red for a small additional eternity. no one is coming the other way. there is no one to be fair to. and yet the driver waits, because waiting is what the small ritual requires.
the engine is doing its low thinking. a fingertip on the wheel taps a private rhythm no one will ever hear. through the windscreen a long empty road proposes a future in which the law has been gently set aside.
field note: the light turned. the car did not move for one full second after. that second was the page.
empty square · midnight · steam vent · footstep · pavement