.:[*}"わ--|私た|ち...|We'll never forget you!"|"友達"|"Right! ..."|"ありがとう..."{*]:.
******
Winds, a'gust from far-off and beyond the horizon, were swept past the rustic edges wearily trounced by daily debauchery's dues; this city, though more like a settlement -nowadays- betwixt desert sands and blistering chills, and amongst its norm for those few who still called Tucson home. Comin' on 'bout some-odd scores, upon scores of months since it'd all started; and, as for what grew in all's place – to parsimoniously endure the evermore dwindling of aid which came from that once was : still hoping for long gone 'tils of whence the external powers that'd made such civil securities possible were, in fact, still prevalent – something the people had now realized t'was both taken for granted, as well as foreseeably-stringently longed for, nevertheless. With the looming setting of the sun now paced, a barren, contiguous shadow could be seen encroaching, cast by the illuminous, yet-still redundantly timed lightings of they that'd choose to stay awake into the night; bemist toiling whether to cling to the ghosts of the olds, or adjust toward foreboding abysses of possible news. The most haunting part of it all, though, being the very real inability to delineate between the shedding of layers of regularity of the day-by-days as any sense of routine, or sanity, nor even an order of existence, itself; all, withered away.
The clattering of the tools which adorned the worn down, utility, pick-up truck, meandering its way over the pothole-ridden roads, rang out; intercut with missed swerves as well as a rumbling of debris driven over, t'is but the tempo, enveloped in giving what little life 'was mustered by the Downtown streets. The driver, a dark-skinned man with a half-smoked, menthol cigarette loosely clenched in his lips; visible bemusement drawn upon his face, partly derived from the droll the radio waned on with -and as such- nonetheless failing at distracting him, of course. As for the destination, he'd been called by one of the less favorable clients of his, the Super 8 motel, over on this side of town; of whom, the power had been cut, ever since a rather sudden surge in the grid - regardless of how many times he'd heard emergency vehicle sirens break apart the relative silence, in the end, they paid better; and, of course, his freelancing did, also, help with their concurrent business model of staying afloat. All the same, the man - Nico - already had made it up in his mind that he wasn't staying out until however close to dusk; the rate at which the emergency sirens had already ripped through the air, all-ready counting rather high, and thus being one of the main reasons he'd foresured'ly, not even try, staying out past municipal curfew.
As the truck pulled into the slightly inclined parking lot of the motel, headlights rolling over the various hues of the sunset's pastel, he sighed a heaviest of sighs as he thought, "Here ... again," to himself, an exhale of his last drag's smoke drifting away. He pulled in to an open spot as near to his objective as he could, a set of double doors with the word 'Maintenance' placarded across the middle split; beyond which, the root of his problem subsided, both figuratively, and quite literally. Both thankfully and luckily though, these cascading thoughts ended up reminding him of the key-ring he still needed to procure from the tool chest in the bed of his truck, all whilst droning on through his ritualistic steps of dismounting from his work vehicle; regardless of any exhaustion though, Nico cast his bloodshot eyes about, as best to make sure no one suspicious, be nigh. He tossed, then stomped out his remaining cigarette under his boot with his starting step out the door; making his way around to the tailgate of the Ford as to gather that which he deemed, as well as hoped, would be most necessary.
Once equipped, Nico strode on, 'ward the circuit breakers; the stench infused with the locale, that of what one would find in an overused port-a-potty, blended with disolutioned cleaning odors, and stale malt liquor. Jimmying the keys in hand as he made his way up to the blandly colored, metallic doors, Nico held each of his breaths a bit longer than comfortable; the want to make sure he didn't inhale too much of what this place exuded driving him to hastily separate, between each of his available fingers, a collection of a few keys he was quite certain, one of which would be right. Then, shortly thereafter, the maintenance shed was accessed; with the staunch refuge of the building's interior now open, Nico charged in headfirst, letting the heavy door close itself behind him as he flicked on his handheld flashlight. While taking the time to catch his breath, he considered, for a moment, his mountable floodlight's capability of brightening the whole of the electrical equipment room; though, then relented to just propping the two doors open, yet only so, once the recollection of the smells from outside had left his tongue.
