On a heavy dark night, I was walking down a dead giant street. As compliance to my tattered soul and to cater to my angst I lit my cigar. My lungs were inflated with ashes and I could see a haze around me thicken gradually. The flickering flames seemed like teaming up, much against my despondence. It'd beat me up hard, sideline my gut. Deluged in loneliness and canker I'd see fear surmount and cling on to my being. I strode past the silent alleys that guarded me home. I let the tap run free expecting it would wash away the giants I am carrying on my bare shoulders. Similar to the depths in darkness the silences (within)loom large. It lulls me to soporific calm. Calm if subverted can lead to pangs of restlessness; defeated repose.