One of the street lights along a particular residential avenue flickers at high frequency. The city, giant sentient beast that it is, has neglected to address the rapid, seizure-inspiring shift from blinding to bright.
It’s the kind of light you’d expect to be stabbed under. Were you dying beneath it, listening to the tinny tick of its oscillations, you’d have to slap yourself for not giving it a wider berth. It’s Michael Myers’ nightlight.
The surrounding street lamps are out of tune with their neighbors as well, but none quite so jarring. One glows in ghost green, dimmer and with a popcorn-bucket fixture full of dead bugs. Another glows amber, with rounded oval housing. The others offer glaring white fluorescence and undetectable flickers.