Friday Noir: These Small Hours
The city cooled its heels down below.
People skittered along like ants with a crumb of bread on their backs. Taxi horns let out yelps of indignation.
It was that time of the day when one clock was winding down, and another started to tick.
The gamblers and the grifters. The pistol men and the shysters.
The misters and the ministers. The kittens and the mugs.
All getting reading for another night on the town.
All going to work that same line.
It’s in these small hours where you take your breathe, try to be an honest man.
Is it time to make your honest play?
Tonight is the time to inherit the flames in those faraway eyes.
Time to dance around this dirty town till the night is all gone.
Into these shadows you pass
Walk softly tonight through these small hours.
Before you try to hold back the dawn.
© Mark V. Krajnak | JerseyStyle Photography | All Rights Reserved 2013