Night on the L

The roads are black in an evening half-light, cast more by street lamps and neon signs than anything else. Overhead is an endless charcoal cloud that erases the skyline and drips rain on the buildings below. The rain trickles down window panes and splashes into gutters. Sidewalks are slick with oily water that reflects store front windows like glassy black mirrors. No one is on the street and even the homeless have found some corner or alley to sink into. The city is as quiet as it could ever be; not even the taxis are wailing on their horns... there isn't any one to honk at. Rumbling on its tracks, the L seems lost in a sea of wet cement with hardly a reason to hurtle forward any more.