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Scattered cars press against sidewalks, keeping watch on the deserted theater district street that would slip away, taking marquees and apartment buildings to some distant, less prestigious address. Automotive spirits, imprints of their tires pushing into curbs, fill gaps between the dark, silent guards, a hint of laughter |
and perfume in the damp air over empty gutters. The ghosts ignore their stolid cousins, preferring memories of star-struck passengers to dangers of capricious boulevards, but the dark cars remain unwavering in their duty, waiting for the morning shift to push aside the ghosts and hold down the street for another day. |