everyone came out

The eclipse brought the whole street outside, which never happens, people I had lived beside for four years and never once spoken to, all of us on the pavement and the balconies in the strange tea coloured light. The man from the third floor had the proper glasses and passed them down without being asked, ten seconds each, like communion. The birds went quiet. It got cold, and nobody mentioned that it got cold.

I don't really remember the sun. I remember handing the glasses on to my neighbour and neither of us saying anything, and the streetlights coming on at eight in the evening all down the road, confused.