Kenny was rooted to a spot five paces from the metro entrance. The street was lit up with neon and colourful street signs. People streamed around him: chattering, laughing, gesturing, staring at phones.
Someone thrust a leaflet into his hand, bowed and moved on.
He stepped into the flow transfixed. It was the set from Bladerunner; the Bridge from Virtual Light. A bricolage of sounds and smells; street vendors clustered in front of tiny fashion shops and low and high-end restaurants; strings of complex characters punctuated by Western brand names.
It was strange, yet familiar. He was home but lost.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.
1 comment:
I think you captured that sort of alienation very well here, Rob. Now I want to know more.
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