Rapture Street

No one comes out at night. I'm in my front yard, staring at the park across the street, dark, no lights at all, and I keep expecting rotting corpses to be walking in the shadows of trees. It doesn't help that there is a funeral home right beside it.

At night, the street is barren. I'm looking down the road, no one about, nothing alive. It should be cool, but the damn humidity has obliterated any chance of us ever expecting any semblance of a winter. It has snowed two times in just under 110 years. It's agonizing, but it's home.