Night Frequencies

The wind cooled down fast after dark. I stood by the outer railing post, watching headlamps carve long streaks along the avenue below. A discarded plastic soda bottle had rolled against the concrete curb, trapped between two metal uprights. I crouched beside it and flicked the ribbed plastic shoulder with my thumb. A taut, high pitch snapped into the night. I stepped closer, hooked the heel of my sneaker over the plastic cap, and nudged it until the hollow base aligned with the gap under the glass panel. Every passing bus sent a sharp gust through the bottleneck, making it whistle like an open pipe. Solid rhythm. I sat down against the brick pillar to let the city drone wash over me.