A neon sunset

I’m never expecting it or waiting to see it, but it’s always a breathtaking surprise when I do. It usually happens at 1ra y C at around 6:30pm, once I’ve turned the corner and passed the “Playa Girón” block letter sign. I’m usually completely lost in my thoughts, or making sure I don’t get run over by a speeding car while absent-mindedly crossing the street, or focused on the waves crashing fiercely on the Malecón wall and spilling over on the street forcing cars to slow down for once. However, my thoughts come to a screeching halt when I see the neon pink and orange rays of dim sunlight amidst a grayish blue sky. The sun is setting over the Malecón. The clouds are stretched out into long, uneven wisps and I’m not even sure if they are the neon or the grayish blue.

Only three more cuadras until I reach the residencia. I purposefully slow down. These three blocks are familiar to me now and I like walking them on my own. I am used to the sound of engines constantly roaring past me, away from the fluorescent spectacle, not amused by the sun’s final performance of the day. Couples sit intimately on the Malecón, sweetly kissing each other, and for once I am not annoyed at their public display of affection because I know that I would be doing the exact same thing with that special someone. But I don’t feel lonely. If anything, it’s comforting to see and feel these strangers’ affection from across the street. From across the street, on days when the sea is rough, I also feel the mist of the sea carried by the wind. It hits my face ever so lightly and I lick the salitre from my lips. And before I know it I’ve reached the residencia. I linger for a little longer admiring the organic beauty of the sun’s departure for a few more seconds and finally turn my back on it and pray that it comes out tomorrow.