The morning sun warms the bones of a city still asleep. A lonely tram passes below the tall buildings, sheets of glass reflecting back the gliding carriages. Looking out the window, a man sees no one else around. The automated driver isn't much company. He wonders if this is what it'd be like if everyone suddenly disappeared.
A plastic bag skips and rolls down the street. Pigeons flutter out of the tram's path as it pulls up to the platform. The men alights and walks across an empty square where the sunlight pools like honey in a bowl.
There's the smell of distant rain from last night. Petrichor lingering like a half-remembered dream. The man halts in the centre of the square and frowns. Something half-remembered. He feels he has seen something fleeting at the edge of his memory.
Something to do with the sun. Something to do with why no one is around.
Paddy Dobson
23rd April 2022