Light Street. Heavy boots carry me through the darkness of this alleyway. Same part of town I always wind up in. Detective movie music playing out the backs of bars. Cracked bricks underfoot. Fire escape and beyond to quarter moon’s brightness pasted on scrapbook of sky. Out on the street, everyone’s minding their own beeswax. Eyeballs glance sideways, then dart back to front. Time slows to a crawl. Pointing like a lost child, the motion “up there.” Yes, the darkness is always “the darkness.” As in “close your eyes and trust me.” Opening back up its mid-day. Over there, the bay is like a bathtub. A ring around it. But no one cleans up in dreams. Cool soft sheets. Rosy apple cheeks. They look so healthy. “Who, them?” They are complaining bitterly about the cold. “Oh, well, let them alone.” Shadows block mid-summer sunlight from reaching all the way down to the floor of some city streets. Most specifically here.