The silence, it’s…patiently paying attention to those sitting in the crowds of no colours.

Question

Whilst the anglers sit quietly. Listen to the fading sounds of summer. Chairs are stacked up enough to know, orange feels like rubbing your coarse fingers. The veins of…I'm in tune.

One person’s playing in the corner

Going back and forth, the metal net pings and he swings across the table to no other

Playing alone… with no arms

How is this so?

The silence, it’s…patiently paying attention to those sitting in the crowds of no colours.

Silently patienting for the darkness to crawl in that moment of silence where all conversations

happen to dimmer…At the very sameeee time.

In those two fleeting seconds, that last a life, the whole world folds and tears apart the ears of that one person listening.

A metal drum. They hear faintly strumming along. In the back of their heads. Then, the corner of the room. No wait, is it coming from that bag? It’s hard to tell. When you're so used to the sounds of silence and the noises start creeping in…

It's a road for the lonely ones.

Sirens speed past. This car refuses to chase stolen moments. Slowly approaching. We met again, at a red light. I put the gear into reverse. Wait for the smoke to clear. Pass the time. The second green says go. Driving towards the willow chair in the rear view.