Standing on the corner, one foot in a puddle by the side of the curb, he looked up from his paper just in time catch the woman walking into the dingy bar.

Walking outside with her vision blurred the girl, squeezed into a mini a size too small, had obviously had too much to drink. Not always considered attractive, being seeped in your own vomit that is, she found that she would have to make her own way home.

Beginning the arduous journey, her heels clicked against the path with her heavy steps as she barely walked in a straight line. She stumbled to her knees more than once, always heavily scrapping her unclothed knees and sometimes throwing up on the soaking ground. Her throat was raw and the aftertaste lingered like no other.

When it began to rain, her heavily intoxicated body barely managed to register the fact. The rain kept cascading down, soaking her white top to reveal a bra that is just a cup off the wrong size, and a little too fancy for such a woman as herself. Maybe from a former scorned lover long lost in the past, from when she fitted her clothes and could smile without faking it.

She stopped her next steps quite suddenly and swung around, her pale blue disk eyes scanning the area for the soft, almost inaudible footfalls she was sure she had heard following behind. When nothing appeared to be there, and the sound had ceased she blamed it all on the alcohol swearing, for not the first time, that she would quit the stuff and turn clean, stop seducing men in order to be bought drinks; halt the one night stands and fake attraction and finally, cease the cleaning out of wallets the next morning before she disappeared and avoided the mans stomping ground for a few nights - weeks if the wallet was particularly full.

She spun on her heel and turned down into the nearest alleyway, her head clearing slightly the longer she walked. The wall was covered in scribbles, numbers scrawling the wall, waiting for the nearest pervert to take up the challenge and inquire over services. She laughed to herself, wondering if her number, her name and occupation was somewhere on this sordid wall, beside maybe that of a brothels number and under the one about free blow jobs. Her laugh rang through the tight alley, reverberating through the stench and describing to all those who heard a bitter woman who just received the wrong end of life one time too many. It was low, and she began to cough before a hand was slapped over her mouth to halt the disgusting sound. There was no scream, only recognition. A whiff of aftershave that while at the time did not seem significant stood out like no other against the other men she had bedded and stole from.