Dance

Black silhouettes rose behind dips like smooth rubber like broken glass like tiny hands made of rainwater shaking still. The sky phased, his vision gone, colours slipping apart, fingers pulled from being pushed beneath his eyelids. His head was runny, tiny men hiding around street corners raised the background like school productions, like cardboard cut outs of trees. Throat sunk into itself.

A man in feather down who dodged rocks jumped over rocks and a low railing that surrounded a car park. A line of houses ran along the road behind him. All of the houses had their doors shut, their curtains open, all of them had cars parked outside. Something deep and sunk beneath his eyes and a baseball cap, and the cars were parked in no order against no lines painted on the ground, and broke his stride of straight lines. Their faces faced each and away from one another and their lights in the dark formed interlocking patterns of ground swelling light leaving parallax raised surfaces seen from the fireworks and audio equipment shop only half bright so that footfall would cause only light shadows in them. An old dance studio broke the perimeter low railing around the car park. Its back wall reached around eight feet high. Only a small section of the back wall remained, a thin white wooden door on the back of the building was accessible by walking around either side of the wall. The door would split like plywood. The wall broke then continued. Behind the other piece of wall was another car park, smaller, that could fit eight cars all facing the same way. It was empty.

A large converted factory stood to the right of him. All its windows barred with white fencing, all their curtains were a hospital turquoise. The lights of the building were never on at night. Its entrance through a pair of double doors that had fire escape handles painted white. The sky lit up and faded nowhere, his breath was thin in the colder air. Three garages ran alongside each other at the other side of the car park at the end of a row of houses. The row of houses ended and the road turned away from the car park, the road turned onto a small car park and turned back on itself, back to the same line as the row of houses, then continued, the two other garages were built here, they had a tall fence surrounding them and no entrance, people had painted on the garage doors with white spray paint. People had political messages.

The man was tall and thin in feather down, his jaw was thin and hung to his chest. He walked in lines as straight as he could manage. He rested his hands from time to time, on the bonnets of cars that leered into his way, put his hand down on the cold of the car. Walked jagged then. His trousers pulled up over his ankles when he raised his legs, got to the wall with one hand on it. Thin clouds passed overhead like downturned palms, like light smoke that pissed apart then weighted, fell back together. Hung low. Sex was obvious, the cold was obvious.

He turned, rested his back against the wall, closed his eyes, his head back, the strap of the back of his cap dug into his skin below the occipital bun. Eyes open he rested himself, slid down the wall, one hand outstretched to touch the floor, got his weight. He sat after a slight scrape, and for a moment slept at this location.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License