Rhapsody in Neon or Neon Doom

It’s evening and I leave work. It’s a Friday

Of course, it’s always a Friday when I look down from that hill and see the mist with neon lights hazing through

They are the lights of the town. They light the way to the night in lyrical blue, vibrant purple and alerting red. These lights do not scare me, they thrill me and I dream of thrill cascading over me in waves, waves of lyrical blue the same color as those neon lights that light the town.

At this late hour the town is full of people like me. Searching. Waiting in the night. From my hill I see them, me the vague watcher, but I see me below as well in the world below.

They see me and I regard them lightly, like they’re something alive, something filled with unimaginable soul.

Blue eyes lock and see and feel and believe in that thing we are looking for in this doomed darkness. There are drinks, but

of course all of us drank too much.

We always did.

There was comfort in being locked out of one’s senses. There still is. It’s a sweet release from the inexhaustible variety of existence.

He feels it too, there’s no where to go so we go to his neon office, blue on red embedded in the skyline. It’s our home, where we belong, or where we could belong if we were good enough or worked hard enough in that unimaginable way others seem to do in our imaginations which roam free on nights like this.

It’s wonderful, honestly.

The night and the mist settles all over me.

All is done soon and I remember, from a treadmill in that same skyline, I look out, down over the town, and I see the neon sign in lyrical blue, vibrant purple and alerting red. It’s close of business. All the neon lights go off.

rhapsody in neon or neon doom, I’ve not quite decided yet, perhaps I never will.

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