As the night descended and I waited for things to sort themselves out, I walked down the alley behind the strangest venue ever, the gravel crunching under my feet. I lit a cigarette and stood in a still place, a breeze blowing my hair and my long sweater about. To my right, a busy street with all the tokens of run-down commercialism: fast food, cash advance loans, closed gas stations. To my left, a train yard with abandoned cars and empty management offices. Off in the distance, a refinery shrouded in smoke, the lights twinkling as if what dwelled inside were magical and not toxic. That whole moment was laced with some kind of still perfection, as if the world had stopped and for a moment I found a place of quiet. A train passed by silently, counting the miles.


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