Harlequin's Elbow

Leaning back against a lamppost, staring up into a turbulent flurry of moths, you realize your night has only just begun. It is quiet. The only sound you hear is the low vibrant rumble the city always makes at 2:00 AM. It occurs to you that this is the sound of life. Millions of lives actually, each one emanating its own distinct energy, and each one mingling with every other in some way or another. The sounds of life, now a distant rumble, a short while ago a grating cacophony. And now, through the night, you hear one individual sound rising up, a distant but clear voice floating on the wind. You struggle to identify it. It could almost be Scottish pipes, but you're not sure. All you are sure of is that you must follow it. And so you do.  -K.P. Devlin