Scream of Consciousness

The alley, along with everything else today, was drenched in the dry summer heat that everyone pretended not to notice. It was always just a little out of place; the only of its kind in the city, the one place where things just didn’t meet up perfectly. One side of it, the one on Frank’s left, was the result of the ass-end of a shopping mall; the other, the sides of a block of retail stores. The bricks had been painted over several times, but were a deep maroon now, with flakes of yellow showing through on both sides.
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If anyone were around to see it, surely they would agree that the lightshow was fantastic; all strange shadows, incredible highlights, and oddly suggestive glows. Colorful blips and blobs of red and blue danced around the multiplicity of rack-mounted screens and reflected off of Monty’s considerable glasses, resembling a group of amoebas dancing the tango.

Tango dances, however, generally end with as many dancers as when they started, which was clearly not the case here. And it was this that Monty, in the throes of a really good buzz, was more interested in.
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