Darkness falls upon the streets.
Another night in the cold, windy city.
The hero’s footsteps fill the air
as silence, broken,
falls into the shadows and waits with anxious claws
ready to reclaim its prize.
A distant whine,
a railroad whistle,
meets the hero’s ear
and brings on the intense feeling
that he isn’t alone.
Looking behind him and all around
he reassures himself and
continues on.
Images form in the faint light
of silent alleyways.
Shadows rise, forming spectres which perform
a static Danse Macabre.
A black cat screams,
charges into the hero’s path,
then disappears across the street.
The hero’s muscles tighten
when ahead a streetlight flickers,
then goes dead.
His eyes trace the pavement,
the alleys, the corners,
to spot the hidden nest of bandits.
His heels click through without incident
this time.
A sudden turn brings fog
which surrounds the hero.
A figure appears, standing, waiting,
a showdown in the making.
The hero readies himself,
grasping for the non-existent gun.
The villian stumbles by
looking for
another place to sleep off his drunk.
The hero makes another turn
and faces the sunset
four hours gone.
Slumping and shoving
his hands in this pockets,
he picks up the pace
and again heads for home.
