On the Edge

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


Rain fell hard, threatening to drown the city but never quite committing to finishing the job. Tonight there was no wind and people felt safe using their umbrellas. All of them moving slow under black domes gave the streets the air of a funeral procession for a famous, but not especially well-liked, guy. Solemn and mournful rather than grieving.

I had no use for umbrellas, relying on a wide brimmed hat that kept off rain and sun in equal measure. Water coursed off the edges in a ring around me and down to the pavement below as if I wasn't there.

“You'll catch your death out there.” Hanako called from behind me.

“One day.” I replied.

Lilac and jasmine let me know she had joined me on the edge.

She let out an exasperated sound that was followed by the tik-tik of her lighter, and a moment later by exhaled nicotine that swallowed her perfume. Her breath warmed my ear. "Let's go to bed. Nothing's going on in this storm."

She was wrong. It was on nights like this that the city was exposed, raw and ready.


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