It's the beauty in things that don't happen.
Rain poured down over the ashen spectrum of Chicago's grey streets. Light from a window bled white into the otherwise noir scenery of this living tribute to black cinema. Matthew leaned in against the cold glass window of his office.
"Every night the same." Narrated his internal monologue.
The freestyle jazz bebop of rainfall fixed itself a backing track to the broken transmission of his police radio. Matthew lit a cigarette and poured himself another shot of whiskey.
"Another night without a case."
Unused files littered his desk, coffee stains and spilled ink adorned his work station.
"Nothing." There was no romance in this.
Candles play stars to our world,
Their white light the composer
To the dancing penumbra of this;
Our waking jazz fusion.
Matthew switched the radio over. Bach's Chaconne, the violin solo cut through the soporific night of his office, classical life bled through the stagnant ambiance of broken noir. Shadows danced ecliptic penumbra of freeform ballet across his ceiling.
Cold winds change,
Their scenery agaze,
With all the wonder of the world,
The beauty of the stage.
Matthew sipped his whiskey. "Never a case." His self narration grimly reiterated.
"Never a dull moment."
Rain poured down over the ashen spectrum of Chicago's grey streets. Light from a window bled white into the otherwise noir scenery of this living tribute to black cinema. Matthew leaned in against the cold glass window of his office.
"Every night the same." Narrated his internal monologue.
The freestyle jazz bebop of rainfall fixed itself a backing track to the broken transmission of his police radio. Matthew lit a cigarette and poured himself another shot of whiskey.
"Another night without a case."
Unused files littered his desk, coffee stains and spilled ink adorned his work station.
"Nothing." There was no romance in this.
Candles play stars to our world,
Their white light the composer
To the dancing penumbra of this;
Our waking jazz fusion.
Matthew switched the radio over. Bach's Chaconne, the violin solo cut through the soporific night of his office, classical life bled through the stagnant ambiance of broken noir. Shadows danced ecliptic penumbra of freeform ballet across his ceiling.
Cold winds change,
Their scenery agaze,
With all the wonder of the world,
The beauty of the stage.
Matthew sipped his whiskey. "Never a case." His self narration grimly reiterated.
"Never a dull moment."
You are developing into something great, Jow, your pieces are always top notch, but this is your best to date!
ReplyDeleteLove this, stylistically beautiful, I was reading this and visualising everything in black and white.
ReplyDeleteIt did have a film noir quality!
ReplyDelete