a study on diction and style. the weary

The lamp cast its lurid glow.
It’s audience a lone woman.
Smoke caressed her raisoned face.
Sirens raced into the night.
Her back to a café wall; she dared not move for fear of the unspoken.
A wind rasped her shoulders.
Silence.
Dark met her; they conversed for a while.
She was weary she said.
Dark gave his condolences.
Frothy stars came out to dance.
She cared not.
Something unspeakable.
Something grim.
She wrapped her coat tightly around her shoulders.
Wandering back to her shift, the street lamp’s company resigned.

fair

Sticky spools of pink spider webs casually tossed in the dust.
The night like a magician’s cape, velvet and sleepy.
Bulbs on tired rides and melancholy kiosks flicker their midnight “adieus”.
Only silence is heard, only the rustlings of leaves like a wood nymph chuckle.
Taste the autumn air, a melty ice cube that tingles your teeth.
Only silence is felt, only stillness is shared.
Only darkness is welcome, now, in the autumn fair.