Neon Current

Wandered down the back alley behind a vintage cinema, where an old transformer box sits propped on concrete. High overhead, a red neon marquee buzzes in a slow, erratic 60-cycle hum. Next to the brick base, an abandoned wire bicycle wheel was leaned against an iron service hatch. I hooked my heel behind one steel spoke, giving it a deliberate flick. Zing. A loose, metallic decay caught beneath the electric rattle. I tucked the horn tight under my arm, leaning my back against the corrugated metal siding. Just letting that dirty voltage pulse straight through the soles of my shoes into the night.