The sprawling street still bends this way and that, but no longer receives any recognition. No serenade from tone-deaf buskers, no feet stomping their appreciation. Only the lonely groan of a cathedral bell punctuates the eerie silence.
Dull slabs wither in the sunlight. Normally they are the canvas on which art is created; they curl self-consciously, now they are expected to be the final masterpiece.
All is still.
I’m still inside. A stray sock and stack of dirty plates prove it. There’s a pile of unread books – I’ll get started tomorrow – a discarded Rubik’s cube, and a half-finished jigsaw on my desk.
Waves crash violently against jagged rocks over and over and over again. I hit pause. Then change the video. A snowy mountain top. Next. Vast desert stretching out for miles. Click. The pyramids are still standing. Again. The moon appears, disappears, appears, disappears…
A friend shouts from down below. I open the window.
“I’m still here” I cry.
I cry. I laugh. I spend three hours trying to balance a cup on my head. I eat. I eat. I eat.
The street meanders out of sight. I check my watch. It’s stopped. Ha. Time standing still – literally.
I eat. Then glance out the window.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the street breathes. She’s not lonely, she’s relieved.