Strangers

The rain is tinged with autumn gloom,

a damp chill that pervades

this expanse,

this cityscape

populated by shrill shadows

and screen-static statues. 

None of you are moving;

or perhaps we are all scuffing our heels

at the same bent-neck

shuffle speed.

We flicker black-white

as the sun sputters out,

a dying dumpster fire

on the curve of late evening.

The clouds weep

soft feedback noise

onto this tangle of

sidewalks,

this web of

walkways,

shoe-sole stained

and grime guttered.

A see-through statuette

shambles sideways,

I stumble,

she does not see.