Strolling in this dark alley,
Illuminated by a solitary streetlight,
Amidst the sound of screeching cats
And the shuffling of my feet.
Basking in the satisfaction of isolation
And the bitter aftertaste of broken dreams,
My crumpled sweater assisting not at all
In preventing the wetness of the dripping rain.
A distinct scream fills the air,
Followed by the pungent scent of blood.
But this is what happens in dark alleys, is it not?
So I move on.