Paradox

The city sleeps. The sodium lamps wear scarves of mist. The sound of my footsteps rings out along the empty streets where a few short hours ago, the comings and goings of a thousand stampeding people left scarcely a yard of pavement unchallenged.
I am alone. I find sleep an enemy I can’t control, so here I am, around midnight, stalking the town like a hunter after deer. There are movements nearby - a taxi escorting a couple of drunks and a motor-lorry with its load of timber en route to the industrial estate
I simply have to find her.

© R T Hardwick