We race along the Boulevard of Discarded Dreams, heady with excitement and fizzing with mingled disbelief and joy. We cannot believe we are here at last!
We’ve dumped our things in the nearest matchbox-sized digs and now we’re free to explore.
Above the Boulevard, the sun is setting behind the hills, and it paints the grey palm trees in magical rose-pink and black. The chain link fences beyond disappear sullenly and silently into the night.
Around us, the street shops blink awake with lights of fluorescent white and neon pink and dim yellow, and they whisper promises of shadows and thrills to us.
But it’s only when the ocean air creeps in and makes ripples of exhaust and exhaustion, that faces and heads and spirits get raised all along the Boulevard.
And then the night can begin.
We eat, we dance, and we peer into trash cans and paw through lost and forgotten dreams. Maybe we can find a dream that will fit.
Backstory: a little micro-fic first shared on Twitter, and inspired by the photoshopped hues I added to this (IMHO) striking palm tree pic I took a long time ago in Mauritius.
Ree-Imagined Worlds 
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