midnight motorway noises

The corner is grey and murky blue. It's broken into blocks by the orange of lamps, by talk and by the reds and whites of the head lights and brake lights of cars that pass us. I can smell cigarettes and lime.

He doesn't notice the traffic, or at least, doesn't seem to. He definitely doesn't seem to care. On the corner nothing happens, it's empty except for the passing cars.

The corner was new, introduced to the world, and to me, by chance... and tequila. And by the lights of people driving home.

Now we've forgotten all about it.