A strange solace and sadness descends on the city after sundown. Streets now emptied of daytime madness, drivers now rare on these asphalt ribbons that wind through neighbourhoods, arteries once fast-flowing with life blood of the city now barely present. The streets are empty of cars and people, and bright streetlamps framed by the green darkness of the trees or the backdrop of empty skies. The ghost city is all mine, but for the few strange stragglers, desperate, like shadows, lurking at corners, or the night-time dog-walkers without destination, and only purpose, with heads bent to their canines, pretending they don’t notice me in the glaring emptiness of the road as I glide by on two wheels.
©2019 James Takeo