The streets and skies have been quiet for some time--at least an hour. A light rain began falling a little while ago. The asphalt below on the empty stage of Bromsgrove Street is beginning to sparkle as the darkening sky summons the streetlamps to join the traffic signals in painting this quiet scene in gemstone light.
Reading reports that most roads into the city centre have been closed off by police, apparently in anticipation of trouble there tonight. The fact that the helicopters, riot vans, patrolling police on foot and the rioters themselves have been mostly or completely absent for some time since the flurry of sounds and activities earlier suggests to me that they're all collecting elsewhere for a reason.
About ten minutes ago, I stood on the balcony with a goblet of soymilk and a big, round cookie hand-painted in frosting with a puffy sheep. I leaned on the railing, eating and drinking, watching my neighbors in the apartment building across the street come and go from their windows, likely for the same reason I was standing there eating gingerbread sprinkled by rain: curiosity as to where the action is while appreciating the rare calm of the area.
Previous to the riots, the club on the corner throbbed nightly--all night, every night--with loud music, laughing and yelling. Add the big trucks that thunder down Bromsgrove and the work done by a forklift in the wee hours at the intersection with Pershore and it makes for an extremely loud night, every night. But for the past three days, the club has been closed, the forklift has postponed work til late and the big trucks are mostly absent. Whoda thunk it'd take a riot to bring about quiet?
