I stopped quickly in my tracks. It was as if a gunshot had rang out overhead, its echo barreling down the canyons created by skyscrapers. It interrupted the otherwise mostly silent fall evening. Then, another joined in to create a melody hardly in sync.

The leaves from the trees errantly planted in the middle of the sidewalks scurried across the street and then soared skyward as they were caught in this manmade crevasse. At 6 p.m., it was already dark. The haze from our urban area had already tinted the sky the color of phosphorus. Bells continued to ring out as I resumed my solitary wander towards the arena.

I was already in a bit of a melancholy mood before that, but the atmosphere of downtown had a moment where it perfectly fit the way I was feeling. I suppose the bells were ads for the church towers that they emanated from... or they were simply saying "it's six o'clock."