The lights flickering up and down the dim avenue,
every flicker reflecting off the puddles on the ground.
For a moment these are the only movements in view,
until a car under the veil of night comes round.

The car that comes to a stop is an old rugged Polara Pursuit,
the door swings and lets out an old gentleman in a black-as-tar suit.
His dormant hands from his pockets to pull a cigar and a light,
he takes a look around before taking the cigar to his lips and ignite.

Nicotine hits and the tar burns through his mouth and down his neck,
smoke fills the air as he waits hoping he wasn’t given a rain check.
Embers burn off of the cigar fading back to the stars,
quiet filled with the distant echoes of passing cars.