Scary Dark

Darkness itself is not as scary as that time in late afternoon in the fall when people see the gathering clouds, the dimming light, when pedestrians walk faster and drivers hunch upon the wheel as though it were a restraining bar on a roller coaster, willing their vehicle to speed up.
Shop owners stand nervously by their windows watching the last touches of day slowly disappearing. The wind blows up, street lights escape their prisons, pets of all types move closer to their owners. The homeless know the transition means temperatures will drop, streets will empty. Families wait tensely for bread winners to return home. TV news anchors look serious. Librarians keep busy to avoid images of grey blanketed blocks.
The electric avenues are shutting down, with only fast food cubbyholes and gas stations remaining. I run from the laundry, tugging two bursting bags of steaming clothes, needing to make my front door before the sun has completely abandoned us and shuffling gangs claim the streets as their own.
Stray cats observe all this scurrying without blinking, while humans shiver in the gloaming.
Doctors let the phone ring. You don't want to know who is making house calls during this scary period of transition.