Nighttime here

I sat on a street corner, watching two women across the street gamble. The streetlights were flickering on and off, and whenever the street was periodically plunged into darkness I heard them swear. To my left was the old dairy, the stench of old cows and rusting metal wafting over me despite the fans that the town had voted to put in there to move the smell. Why they don't tear it down, I don't know. The Governor said something about history, and tradition. The Doctor said something about illnesses that could spread from the dust involved in taking it down. The Naturalist said something about preserving ecosystems. To my right were two vaguely familiar children, running around in the middle of the road. It's ok though, because no cars ever come this way anymore. There's talk of officially banning them (tourism, how despicable, says the Governor). It wouldn't affect me much, I haven't got a car. Anyway, the children were running around, laughing as they jumped over shards of broken glass. From where I was it was a dull blue grey color, but if I tilted my head slighlty to the left I could see that it actually was a bright blue. It was sparkly. 
"Look, Marian," I said to myself, "It's beautiful." The women across the street heard me and laughed. That's ok, it didn't bother me. I get it. 

We've all been chewed up and spit out by this thing we call life...