Neon Fireflies

The loud buzzing and humming of buses, Volkswagens, Ferraris, and taxies traveled from the left into the ears of Mortar Whittler as his two tired feet clumsily lifted themselves one in front of the other, on the cracked and chipped cigarette-littered sidewalk. City lights in the dark night background were like gigantic fireflies of varied flashing neon colors. Shivering from the crispy, chilly air, his heart thumping uncontrollably, with his focus shattered into a trillion sharp jigsaw pieces from his chronic anxiety, his eyes glazed over one spectacle to the next, not comprehending or even being conscious of the present moment. The soles of his shredded leather shoes glued themselves involuntarily to the endothermic and brittle concrete as his eyes peered in an open doorway along the line of bustling and excited businesses with on his side of the street. Warm, inviting, orange light emanated from the doorway and the murmurs and whispers of simple pleasant conversation and easy small talk. Various aromas of a plethora of coffees and cocoas flooded his nostrils, but the one that reached its small, frail, aged hand into his soul and smoothly plucked out a single thread of happiness was the cappuccino.

His mind blanked out his vision for a moment, throwing reality out of his eyes and replacing it with the images and remnants of a few pleasing memories of the past.