Of Streets And Strangers

Dan knows the way to work like the back of his hand. It's a fifteen-minute-long walk that he takes almost every day from his flat to that dingy diner he works at. He's been walking this route for months now. So clearly he must be going insane or maybe he's overworked, because there's suddenly a new street he passes on his way home. It's 2 a.m. and he's tired. If he were drunk, he'd blame it on that; surely this street he's seeing all of a sudden is just an illusion. It's enticing, he feels like it pulls him in, calls him to enter unknown terrain. But when he tries to bring his legs to walk in that direction, it feels like he's standing face first against a wall and can't take another step forward. Dan shakes his head and continues his way back home, ready for a shower, as he smells of greasy cooking oil. He can't wait to get in bed.

The street is still there the next day, although it's not really a street; it's more like an alley, and Dan can't see to the end of it which is strange, considering it's a straight street. It's narrow, and there are no trees, only lamps and trash cans; there are no cars driving or people walking on it. Once more Dan tries to take a step into it, but again he finds his feet stuck to the floor, and no one around him is paying attention to the fact that there's a random street that just showed up out of nowhere. Or maybe it's been there all along, and Dan was just unobservant. Or maybe reality isn't at all what he had always thought, and for a short second his heart beats unreasonably fast at that possibility, before he shakes his head and tries to banish the thought away. Dan is just a dreamer, that is all. There is no such thing as streets appearing out of nowhere and perfectly fitting themselves between houses. There is no such thing because it is impossible.
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A few days later Dan has come to terms with the fact that apparently, for months of his life, he passed a street without acknowledging its existence. Sometimes he side-eyes it, notices that he never sees cars or people in it, but then he just shrugs the thought off and moves on.

That is, until one day, Dan finally sees someone come out of the street - or more like tumble out, because the tall stranger with black hair and pale skin almost trips and falls over, before catching himself with a relieved laugh.

He looks up at Dan and smiles lopsidedly before saying, "Hey, you're the guy that's sometimes staring at this street for minutes," and Dan's taken aback, because he didn't think anyone had noticed. Furthermore, how could this stranger have seen him look at the street when he had never seen anyone in there?

"Who are you?" Dan asks, puzzled.

The stranger thrusts his hand out towards Dan to offer it for a handshake. "Oh, I'm Phil. I'm from Manchester, but I live in this street!"

And then he looks around as if he's searching for something or someone, blue eyes seemingly scanning every detail of his surroundings.

"You don't happen to know where we are at the moment?"

Dan opens his mouth, and then closes it again, wondering if maybe engaging this strange young man into conversation was such a good idea after all, because obviously something is not quite right in his head. So he takes a tentative step back, very small as for the stranger not to notice, and forces a smile as he says, "We're in London."

Excitement sparks in the stranger's vibrant eyes and his face lights up. " Excellent. I've never been here before, but I always wanted to visit."

Dan takes another tiny step back; clearly this guy needs some help.

"Didn't you just say that you live there?" he asks hesitantly and points towards the street.

"Ah, yes I do. But you see," he leans closer and there's a twinkle in his eyes as he whispers the next words as if telling a secret, "the street moves."