Suburban Streets

Suburban streets stretch beneath a moonless midnight. Wet asphalt has no lane markings; fallen leaves cling to the road and edges of stone sidewalks, and rain gathers in cold black puddles. Most streetlights are dead, while an occasional bulb opens only a pale ring in the fog. Houses of different shapes line both sides of the road, yet their doors, windows, driveways, and backyards retain the neatness of places just vacated. Their interiors are fully furnished, but nothing requiring electricity responds. The neighborhood seems to obey the order of a residential district, but distance loses meaning as you walk. Adjacent houses are sometimes perfectly identical; farther on, homes may appear embedded into one another, their interiors extending without regard for their outer forms. The streets are more dangerous than the houses: thick fog swallows intersections and lights, uncertain silhouettes sometimes surface behind dark windows, and footsteps on the wet road often keep the same uneasy distance behind you.