The Hourglass Empties Itself

The street outside is deserted. The tram is moving, slowly. The city comes into view and then fades back out of view. I follow its path. A loaf of bread rests in the gutter where a handle should be. The street becomes empty. The streets become empty. In every direction, it recedes. It leads me in.

I am now the only person left on this street and all of its surrounding streets, for each one is also empty. A small grief has attached itself to the door handle made of bread, but it cannot be seen. I cannot remember what it looks like. I cannot remember anything except these streets that are empty, and my hand that holds this loaf in place of a handle.

I stand by the bread-handle, leaning against the wall where an address should be. The street is now dark. My shadow rests on the ground. The bread-loaf is warm, the warmth of where a hand would have been. From my kitchen, a faint light comes through a window at the end of an alley. I cannot remember if it is mine or someone else's.

I follow its path. It leads me in.