11th Hour Street

The street had such an awkward name. 11th Hour Street in the middle of a very busy small town. The street was dark not pitch black more of a twilight situation. It was situated between two sky crappers which explained why it was a bit darker than most Street. The street was no more than three hundred metres but it felt like like ab entire highway.
      There was an old Street car named Desire. It never moved it was just parked outside a liquor store. That name probably said more than it should have said. I’m sure that car just wanted to move from that parking explore it’s greatest acceleration but oh well it needed a driver to move.
   The light from the store was the only form of relevant writing for the street as the street lamp was broken. It just stood there  rooted into the concrete no able to do the only task it had. A few stray cats played in the street occasionally letting out strained throaty purrs.
   The air was thick with a fleeting smell of marijuana. The smell wafting through the air gave someone a certain high as the passed the street. I could say it’s one of the reason I loved staying on that Street.
  Eleventh Hour Street was lonely apart from the occasional backstreet musicians who graced it after shows either to drain their sorrows or celebrate their dreams. But I stayed there as long as I could. The darkness was the most timeless thing about it. One could never tell if it was day or night really.so time could just fly.
   Moss grew on the walls of the buildings giving the street a minty feel and moist to the touch. Flowing water from the sewage lines beneath the tarmac reminded me of a river draining into a lake. The beauty of life.
  Dark streets are infamous for all sorts of impunity but the Eleventh hour was a contrast to its stereotypical reputation.
The street was full of life. It’s a miracle that from the greatest darkness the brightest lights could emerge.I would walk through the street with  a heavy heart but by the time I got to the end I felt free.
  As I said whoever named this Street must have had a good sencevof pun.because the Eleventh hour was a living symbol of the metaphoric eleventh hour. The darkest hour before dawn. It was only through this Street that I could see who I really was. That in all that darkness I found inner peace. Found my true identity. Because once you get into Eleventh hour Street you can’t leave if you really on that liqour store light.
    The only way to leave is when you use the light in you. When you finally embrace the beauty in the madness.
When you see the perfection in what seems so imperfect.


legitimately by jerrryKariuki


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