A walk in the city

The sky above us is a black felt with red overtones, the stars lost to the electrical glow of the street lights and buildings that stretch up above and out around. The moon set hours ago behind a skyline of tall towers, but the streets are far from dark. Light from inside the buildings and from the street lamps flood them, filling them with a light that is not bright and not dim, and is just a little orange. It feels as if there is not a world outside of these streets. 

It’s hot as well. Hot and humid. My clothes stick to me and my face feels warm and clammy. My breath is hot on my lips as I try to keep up with my uncle. It’s like the city is moving around him instead of him moving through the city, and I have to rush to stay with him or become lost.
I watch him plunge into a crowd and dart to keep up, my eyes focused on his back. He moves around and between and past people as music from a street band plays. Crowds of people have gathered to drink and dance and talk, filling the night with a living pulsating force I can feel on my skin. I feel the urge to giggle as I weave after him, the joyous feeling of the crowd infecting me a little. When we finally break free it's like breaching the surface of water after being submerged for almost too long. For a moment I am drawing deep breaths of hot, heavy air as if I had been holding my breath.

My boot is starting to feel loose as I stride after my uncle and I glance down. The laces are showing but that doesn’t mean they are untied. He is talking about how this part of the city was absorbed from what it was originally to what it is now and I am racking my brain for something to say but there is nothing there but those damned laces. He keeps up a running monologue as we pass by numerous shops; clothing shops, shoe shops, shops for stuff I can’t identify as we rush past. The storefronts are a blur broken by the occasional restaurant, most closed at this late hour, but not all.

He is talking about when he first moved here and now I am sure my laces on that boot are untied. I know he would stop if I asked but he is in a hurry and I don’t want to slow him down.
We rush past a restaurant with outside tables and there is a couple sitting with goblets of red wine; the man is talking while the woman looks a bit bored. Neither look up at our passing.
The fast pace is just a hair from being too fast but I will keep up. I don’t want slow my uncle down. And those damned laces. Now they are completely untied and they lash forward with every step. Instead of looking at the stores we pass or the streets we cross, my attention is on the laces, on not tripping on them. And on the sidewalk we are flying over. My uncle changes direction like a line on an architectural drawing and I skrabble after. A red light stops the mad dash and I have a moment to breath and to kneel on sidewalk speckled with black spots, to tie the laces, but not enough time. The light flashes green and the race is on again over sidewalks strewn with blackened gum like a reverse image of the Milky Way. We pass a couple of women dressed up for the night and he comments that the blue dress just wasn’t working and I have to laugh. I hadn’t really noticed. He comments that it probably is a nice dress, just not on her. And what a shame that she probably paid a lot for it. And I laugh again. My salty sailor uncle in his polo shirt, his shorts, and his sandals commenting on the fashion of a clubber.

Another corner and another character. A woman in a red dress. But it’s the mickey mouse ears that both of us notice. He starts the song and I join in for the O-U-S-E. We pass two men on their way to some club or event, based on their dress. Very snazzy.

The laces are loose again. Damn it. I hope he doesn’t notice. I don’t know why but I am ashamed of how they have come untied. He is talking again and I move up closer to his side to hear what he is saying more clearly. I glance down a street and catch a glimpse of chinese lanterns, red and gold, and bright in the night for just a moment. Then we are past it. The city stretches above and around us. He is talking again but my focus is on the laces and my breathing. It’s harder to keep up with my laces untied and I am regretting saying “Let’s walk” because he won’t get home until late.

He darts down a lane saying something about a cannoli and my mind scrambles for the definition, from meat and cheese stuffed crust to sweet crunchy shell as I swerve to stay with him. He asks me if I want one and while my brain says “yes, I haven’t eaten since lunch and am starving, and I am thirsty” my voice says “no, thanks, I’m good”. I want to kick myself but the words are out and I can’t take them back. He steps into the restroom to wash his hands and I take the moment to kneel down again. This time I double knot it.