At deserted bus-stops

by mandaceehb

dozing off at 1am, waiting in a familiar place that has taken on such a different aura at night. We ambled through the mall, lights on but tables and chairs orderly overturned and compacted into smaller invisible cubes. The kiddy rides sit where they are, larger-then-life smiles frozen in place even when there is no audience to tug on mummy’s and daddy’s hand and feed them a stray coin. They speak in recorded voices, the only sound other than the brushing of the floor that pierces the night in creepy animated tones, too alive in the silent night.

At the bus-stop flares of orange light zoom by, occasionally the conversations of passers-by drift past our lethargy sinking deeper into the ground. But at last the correct car comes by and we tumble in, never more eager for the journey home.