The foggy sky presses down heavily on the earth. Only the glimmer of light given off from the streetlights, shops and cars pushes back, reclaiming just a small part of the vast space. A ceiling held up by a cloudy pillar of light. Somehow there is silence. It's not that late and you can see people in the distance and cars on the road, but the red light by the park halts the line and the sounds of the engines are muffled by the thickness of the air. Then you realise that there is music coming from the van at the back of the queue. Calypso music radiates out from the van, and you wonder how you hadn't noticed it earlier. Somehow it fits the scene. The damp, dark and silent street. The mist makes the lights become spots, and you can see them climbing all the way up the hill, the white of the streetlights mixing with the red of the cars. You can't taste the air, as if when you breathe in, you're breathing in cloud, and when you breathe out, you can see it, white and wispy. The goosebumps clamour for space on your legs and you realise it must be cold, but the tense-ness of the air is like a blanket and you can hardly feel it. The moment lasts for an eternity.