rain spattered windows

The car stopped with a soft lurch, leaving a residual shuddering that was like an almost imperceptible vibration through my body, a memory of the last constant hour of movement. The drops pattered on the thin roof and I looked sideways, down the rain slashed streets. Street lights gleamed on the wet windows, smeared into messy crosses of phosphorous flare. The red traffic light shone thickly in the empty night, a silent sentinel of an abandoned, forgotten bridge, shining loudly into the wet black dark.

I waited. There was no one else for miles.

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