Walking Home

I walked home from my ESL class after rain showers had swayed me to stay for tea while waiting for the rain to end.  Grimy water filled the pockmarks in the sidewalk, making an obstacle course out of side-stepping ankle-deep muck while simultaneously avoiding other pedestrians accepting the same challenge. Water swooshed through the gutters along the streets.  Up above, clouds blocked the usual piercing sunlight, cooling what had been a hot day unusually fast.

In the city square, the fountains still sprang up to their usual height.  In what must be an attempt to create a pleasant atmosphere for tourists posing for pictures or lovers out on their evening stroll, garbled music oozed out of the speakers. Ironically, the record-player quality makes me think more of the grim scenes in Schindler’s List than I do of parties or roses or happiness.

Nevertheless, the night still has a charm to it. Many people, mostly youth, walk along the streets.  Night clubs are open.  Flowers in the arms of young women show the romantic intentions of their date.  Street lights and signs give light to the sidewalk in pinhole bursts. 

A few more streets to cross.  I gauge my go time for crossing by the blinking green light that tells cross traffic it’s about to turn a quick yellow and then red.  A few more blocks. Past the first apartment building on my right.  Down the driveway.  Open the door with a magnetic key; up two flights of stairs.  Turn the key twice. Slip the shoes off. Home.