Somnambulist

Midnight calls his ambling steps. There’s no purpose to the shuffling of his feet and slightly slumped back as he braves the sidewalks at night. He disappears in the gap between the streetlights with his hands in his pockets. His pockets have nothing in them besides. His eyes shift between focusing on the cracked pavement and the dimly lit path in front of them; it’s a habit now though it’s unlikely he’ll see anyone walking this late at night. All the houses have their eyes closed except for one or two, his kindred insomniacs.

He stop and looks up. It’s difficult to see the stars under the glaring yellow light of the street lamp above him. He squints his eyes and continues walking, silently cursing the dots now floating behind his eyelids. For a moment he is night blind and so he stands and waits for his eyes to adjust. Eventually, his pupils return to their proper dilation and everything becomes perfectly clear.

A cop car rolls by, slows as it passes him, then drives off as if it has more important things to do at 2 AM.

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