Dark, empty windows stare blankly across the dull steel sea with pairs of vacant eyes deeply set in aged facades, vacuous minds impaired by scant use. Homogenized rows of faces, void of identity, stained synthetic earth tones – beige and sepia, cream and chestnut, trimmed evergreen and topped with rough slate – that stand out sorely against peat shores. Lanky firs with bare trunks point like hors d'oeuvre toothpicks garnished with daubs of greenery to clustered rooftops below. The fog lazily seeps down from a high, enveloping the dwellings, lulling unlit corners to fall into a frozen, dreamless, daytime oblivion.
Nocturnal beings blink awake as the gloaming descends. Four, fifteen, fifty pairs of eyes pierce the black night. Peering, spying beacons that cast peppered reflections all the way to my toes. Thinking unknown thoughts, living behind flickering luminescence only to fade again at dawn's first gray streaks.
Yes, I googled "hondureña" today, and what have we learned?
