The commotion on Wale Street might be minimal this dusk but traces of disruption are detectable with every muted motion. Everything is peaceful today. Fast fading echoes of laughter are projected from afar. Speeding cars head into a distance. A siren suddenly breaks the pattern before it also buries into oblivion. Parity restored.
The notorious wind is less violent than it was in the entire city yesterday. You can faintly hear it mischievously crash against the inviting walls. Daylight is suddenly locked in a duel for dominance with dark. Dark emerges victorious, eventually.
Glowing street lamps illuminate the road that leads into the city soon after. A roaring motorbike suddenly makes a dash. Calm is soon restored. A small frail rugged figure emerges from a semi-dilapidated building heading towards the local corner shop. There he meets a community of what appears to be vagrants who make themselves at home. There’s hardly a murmur from any of them. They all seem distant in thought. Nothing but brisk disorderly shuffles.
For a brief moment, the wind seems to be locked in a dead stare. The pattern creating a rhythm of calm. Peacefulness. But soon, a level of pandemonium will manifest. Maybe not in the very instant. Maybe not in the next hour, but it is the inevitable. Then the cycle starts again. It’s the rhythm of life.