city lights.

dark eyes absorbing the city as a sponge. colors of dusty orange, rust, dirty sepia, and iron burning into her retinas sparking a small flame to the world's most disastrous fire. the uneven concrete scratches her elbows, but she can't move for fear of missing a moment. the one in the complex across the block vacuums at 3:00 in the afternoon everyday. she finishes watching her recorded "days of our lives" on the old VHS tape, and drags out her little swiffer vac. she kinda skips around on the carpet, and from this distance, she's floating. the bakery around the corner never seems busy. there's this man that comes in and orders some kind of pastry. walking down the sidewalk, he's running late, and there goes his coffee dripping down the front of his newly-pressed suit. she doesn't read lips, but she knows he's cursing his fate and contemplating how much he would get from a lawsuit. car horns, ambulance sirens, the squeal of burning rubber to scrape around that corner just in time. everyone's always in a hurry. but today she's leaving time with them, and with her fire eyes, she wishes she could float.