PASSAGE

There were a number of vacant parking lots. Desolate patches with nothing to fill the air above the concrete flat.

All around these patches were lights that shone out brightly into the night as if scrubbing white a tiny bit of darkness only to leave the remaining space darker than before.

Cars slid in and out and around the desolate parking spaces never blinking, never looking to the left or to the right. Right on course were these cars moulded by the light from above.


There was a lacking in conversation in the air. Intense concentration was needed. There were directions that did not come casually. They needed to be learnt through scrutiny as an eye adjusts itself to a changing light alerting itself to the momentary discomfort of blindness so better to operate in the long run. Nothing could be taken for granted. There was a technique to this parking thing and cars needed to get it right moving off or staying put as needs be.


Only the hushed whisper in the half-light of dawn which came smoking across the lights from above could suggest another way. One which did not relate to the cars and their whereabouts but rather to the passage of time itself which seemed to occur in the squinting light all around. A memory never lost to the past, with no past to tell of.