They flickered like lightning. You wait for the thunder to roar as the sky was already set. There was smog and darkness at half-past four. Petrichor had diffused in the air. The road lights continued to turn on and off erratically, quickly. You look up at the speed-blinking. You look up at the dark clouds. But that was it. Just broken bulbs. Still, you wait for the thunder.
(writing practice inspired by unphotographable.com)