The Hum of the Pavement

The asphalt exhales the last of the heat, a heavy breath rising from the cracks where dry moss clings to the grit. Above, the sky is a thin sheet of glass.

Steel skeletons of the rising towers catch the amber of a lowering sun, glinting like salt on a rusted rim. The wind carries a scent of distant rain.

Traffic hums a low, insistent cello, vibrating through the soles of boots. Leaves, still green but brittle at the edges, skitter across the crosswalk like nervous birds.

Shadows stretch their long, violet fingers across the brickwork of the old brewery. Wait for the click of the streetlamps— that hum of electricity before the glow.