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It's quiet tonight. Almost too quiet. I keep endlessly turning in my bed. As if something is about to happen. Something big. Whether it's terrifying or great, I cannot tell. In the hope that it'll calm me down, I smoke another cigarette - hopefully the last one for tonight - beside my open bedroom window, and smell the fresh breeze of late-summer air entering the room. I hear the faint sound of cars in the distance, the quiet hum of city noise, and yet it feels like I'm all alone here by myself. The fire escape blocks most of my view. All I can see are flickers of light - beacons of the thousands of little stories unfolding before me. Life is passing me by, like a late-night tram rattling past. I lean against the windowsill, exhaling smoke into the night, wishing for once that I’d chase after that tram instead of watching it disappear into the haze. But like always, I just stand there, letting the city’s pulse thrum on without me, hoping fate might deal me a hand worth playing.
