projectile vomiting into the void

joseph walked down a sidewalk that was actually just rocks with his hands in his pockets. there were lights there, they illuminated him. joseph stood still to strike a match, covered his mouth with the cigarette in it, stood still again. joseph took a deep breath and walked—across rocks, across splays of grass, a metal grate. he heard the sound of gravel falling, far beneath his feet, deeper into the bowels of the city—which was built for him, for the people he knew, admittedly, yet which, somehow, still stood empty—than he would ever be willing to venture. joseph walked beside a rat that ran. joseph noticed this only seconds "after the fact". this was where he felt most at home, he realized, in the concrete hole that had been created, by people, for him. joseph was alone.