Far West

I like to see only the silhouettes of people at sunset. They become not full people but shadows of what they were during the day. I can be alone with myself. At most I see a hand hanging out someone's open window as they sit in their vehicle to watch the horizon and the falling sun. Other runners become a pant, a face that flashes back into dusk as quick as it came. People on bikes shrink down to a flashing light and a bike tire whir and they're gone too. Surfers squeege by whose boards reflect a streetlight. My shadow moves in next to me as the car lights pass by. The world seems to simplify into sounds and dark and light. Here at dusk there's no future to worry about tomorrow's phonology assignment and no past. Just me and the fading sun. Me and snippets of conversation from other people's worlds. "The fact is, in my opinion..." Me and my sweat, my knees, my spit. "And she said, 'Don't be shy...'" Me and an expansive ocean-sky. "If Barack Obama is candidate for president...whole new opportunity for the rest of the world..." It's just me and my fading headache. As I turn back towards my house, my shampoo, my dinner, my phonology, the dark part of the sky is left and what remains of today's sun is a pale memory on the horizon behind me. A woman pulls up her underwear after peeing beside her car in the dark. My mind is quieter and as I pass some of the silhouettes again that I passed on the way out I realize I can't avoid recognizing someone. The lights seem brighter as the dark gets darker and it's easier to make out the features of passersby. I suppose my obscurity is less certain too. I even have to shield my eyes like I did from the bright sun today to discern the path across the open field back to my house. Here I am.