Jacaranda

The real beauty of the city comes out at night under the soft shadows cast by the street lights and the fading whisps of color left over from the clouds. The night blurs the stark lines so painfully visible in the day: the sharp cut of suit jackets on businessmen; the suitcase the old woman uses as a seat, table, and bed; the rolling wheels and sleek metal gliding over asphalt; the trash overflowing from every possible bin. It’s all there whether you want to see it or not. The trees always bloom in the spring. The cats mew pitifully in their shoe box as their owners ask for money or food, all too aware that people will help the cats but not them. The lovers holding hands, the friends chatting over coffee, the blaring of music in impossibly sanitized stores, it’s all a part of the city. Even me. And it all looks better under the cover of darkness. Especially me. 

Calla C Smith lives and writes in Buenos Aires, Argentina. She enjoys reading, cooking, spending time with friends and family, and continuing to discover all the forgotten corners of the city she has come to call home. She has published a collection of flash fiction What Doesn’t Kill You, and her work can also be found in several literary journals such as Five on the Fifth, Cosmic Daffodil, and Hearth & Coffin among others.