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"I've Got A Dark Alley and A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth" -Fall Out Boy -
September 15th, 2002 10:43pm
The moon reigned proud in the evening sky. A hazy ring of mellow white forms around the crescent satellite, radiating celestial light and power. Her silvery glow is soft as she shines on the earth and its inhabitants. She is patient and nurturing, lighting up the streets of the small town.
The sky, in contrast to the nurturing moon is brooding and dark, not a single star to be seen. The dark blue might as well be pitch black. Swirls of navy blues mixing in with darker blues, monotonous and seemingly endless, like a pit with no conceivable bottom in sight. The clouds are quite shy this particular evening, the moon shines on their greying wisps as they travel across the vast skies.
Nearby the river, slowed to a glorified stream by the change in seasons, reflects the moon's glorious profile, through admittedly, its perception distorted. On the broken surface of the water, float beads of liquid light. Sequins formed of moonlight that had fallen to the earth, that held their place as the waters underfoot continued their perilous journey around jaggy stones, to sea.
It's foreign to you to be standing directly beside him; his height certainly a lot more than you could've imagined from afar.
His tall frame towered over you, though his warm smile radiated his positive energy. The bag that hung over one of his broad shoulders sagged ever-so-slightly, the yellow hoodie hugging his chest in a loose manner.
His hair flung around as the wind carried itself about. You found yourself noticing a few light freckles that littered his face, his lips slightly curling at the ends.
Your footsteps mixed together as your laughs emitted, joking about everything under the sun. He stopped in front of the bridge, the both of you standing beneath it.
"Here she is." He gestured dramatically towards the concrete structure. "In all her glory." The cracked surfaces contained the dark green moss; littered with other plants of all sorts.
Brian set his bag down as you admired the graffiti that littered the cracked concrete, the colors vibrant like an explosion of a rainbow—tags of several different artists layering over each other.
Brian slumped against the wall, digging through his bag as you plopped down next to him. His large hands pulled out, to your delight, a few wrapped brownies, setting them down on his pant leg to prevent them from getting dirty.
