65 words: Dusk – Part II

Dusk. The blinding day has gone. The Common blackbirds have picked the bushes clean of berries. They perch in abandoned buildings overnight, waiting out the dark. Garbage bags rustle in the streets and echo in still ears. The heavy aura of its sickness slips into mouths unnoticed. People pack themselves into small homes and smaller beds. Eyelids close, shutting out the defeat of the day.

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