The wet sidewalk met my sneakers with a smack,
as the air brushed my skin in a lazy,
drifting sort of fashion;
as if it too were giving up on the day due to rain.
I took my time strolling down Dobbs Street,
questioning whether there is life outside of Halifax.
It sometimes feels as though you are the last man on earth
when the overcast darkens and the city goes silent.
I pondered what I would do if this feeling were fact
as I passed the Montfort building on King Street toward the cemetary.
Tonight would be ideal for a ghost to appear,
or perhaps I am a ghost.
