The tall metal streetlamps cast artificial glow onto the streets below, illuminating fallen leaves in garish yellow light. I squeeze Becca's hand, and she smiles at me, dark purple bags only slightly dulling the characteristic glow in her eyes.
We step in time, both slow with both exhaustion and contentedness. Her auburn hair has turned an unnatural color under the cold glow of the moon, and use my free hand to ruffle my fingers through it. I grin, no energy left to look at her, knowing I don't need to. She knows I'm smiling.

By theincrediblehulk, October 4, 2015.

The large Victorian street was pitch black. On both sides of the cobbled street were iron streetlamps partially covered in snow. Each one radiated a warm orange glow, flickering in its attempt to light up the whole street.

By purplecompton, December 25, 2014.

The streetlamps were lit, throwing garish pools of orange onto the sandy sidewalks.

By james, June 3, 2012.

Found in Alex Rider, Eagle Strike, authored by Anthony Horowitz.