Die Writing

On the streets 3

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on November 15, 2014

She climbed the bar, stood on all fours, and whipped her hair. A petite woman in worn jeans and with faded eyes. The bartender, a giant, muscular man, carefully poured some water over her long, jet-black locks. Her friend pulled out a small camera and started taking pictures while she blew kisses and arched her back. The bartender leaned back and laughed gently to himself. Through the whole proceeding, she was quite reserved and polite. There was no hooting and no hollering. The woman was relaxed, languid even, as if well accustomed to this act. She climbed down cautiously.

The bar half-empty, with just a few older regulars nursing their drinks at the end of a workday.


DC transforms when the sun sets. It is as if one city is yanked away, and another materialized in its place. The streets and the buildings appear the same, but their essence changes dramatically. The shaded alleys pulse indiscernibly, as if a heart was beating beneath the skin of the old rowhouses. This city’s breath is both sinister and intriguing. Spirits and demons, unseen, hop along the broken rooflines. Stray lines of poetry slink along the warped sidewalks. Tragic characters live out the conflagrations of their lives behind the glowing, shaded windows. Legion romantics fill the darkness with their dreams.

The night is brief, always too brief. Soon, the sun returns, and dreams and demons evaporate.