It was the devil’s hour. Two cool kids were coming back from a party, still sweaty from all the dancing, their hearts still pumping to the rhythm of the devil’s music. Those were the years where they felt grown up, and were as childish as they would ever be.
This street was empty. It felt like longing, the kind you get when you do not know what you want, and cannot help but cry. They both felt the same impulse: run around more scream more, dance more, do more. But the street was unforgiving. So one of them stopped, feeling all would end here. Unrequited love, self-doubt, abstractions.
But the other one put on a brave face. “Come on, I will make her love you.”