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.