Dark, blind corners

I walked. I walked away from the dark, blind corners of hidden alleys, far from them.
I jerked awake in the morning, early with the dawn. A distant song played somewhere. The phone rang, a consistent, annoying ring. It rang through my ears, a harsh vibration. My arm crept into the painful, numbing cold, reaching for it. My hand shook, it vibrated. I pressed a button, and it stopped. I held it to my ear, a sleepy ‘hello’, followed by silence. The silence cut the air. It pierced through my bones. My silence. The man talked, and I listened. I nodded. Then I remembered, the phone didn’t have eyes. I responded, in agreement, and pressed another button, now pushing it away, far, far away. I crept into the painful, numbing cold.
The sun drowned in darkness. The darkness rose, lashing its whip, all over my world. I missed the calm, yet violent, striking presence of the sun. I walked into the street, flooded by the cold. The beautiful, smooth, white powder rested in my pocket, safe, yet dangerous.
I walked into the dark, blind corners of hidden alleys. I recalled, and turned right. A wall loomed over me, and I halted. There was the hard, cold metal can. The green popped out of it, as if declaring its presence. I reached, and clutched it, marvelling at the crispness. The powder, safe and dangerous, blinding, numbing, found its way to the green’s home.
I walked. I walked away from the dark, blind corners of hidden alleys, far from them. Then I heard it. The roar, the squeal; the car. I stopped, not yet far. The window half disappeared. I stared into a dark, black tunnel. There was a click. An explosion.

I jerked awake in the morning, early with the dawn. A distant song played somewhere. The phone rang, a consistent, annoying ring.
Déjà vu.