Saltwater Streets

Wild night out there.
Walked em back home, a mild wind, but there was something darker in it. Old hills and black fields, stars behind clouds, cold as pinpricks. Icy redemption.
Think it was something to do with the sea. That mild wind kept picking up the sound of it, flung it down streets. Felt like I was being followed by tides. Foamy haunting, a saltwater ghost.
Down on New Church Raod there's a man walking just in front of me. He looks a little unsteady, sways slightly. Can't tell how old he is, or anything about him. A silhouette really. Wears some kind of hat and carries a briefcase, twirls an umbrella in his right hand,. Looks like he stepped out of some old decade, bought back by the same wind that picked up the sea. Flings the past down streets too. Night full of footsteps, and when I got back to the Mews, the lamps creaked like all the ghost stories I ever wanted.
In my room now, last cup of tea, and Radio 4 playing a jolly old tune, flamenco style, and I can only imagine the wild night still going on outside.