Who is HE?

Another night is done. The sun will be chasing away the comforting darkness all too soon, He thought, with hands in pockets, moving and squirming like snakes or worms digging for something. 
 
The neon lights, from down the way, glitter in the pool of water next to the dumpster. Quiet and dark, the lights either burned out years ago, or broken by the inhabitants seeking refuge from the rest of the city's nightlife.

Lips move, mouthing silent words before lighting a cigarette.

Staring at us like that, is it the hunger?

The young woman slowed when she saw the flame, almost stopping in her path, eyes wide and a slight look of familiarity about her. The woman, hair pulled pack tightly, a long coat, knee length skirt, and walking shoes. 

 Not many peoples come back here. Only thems who are looking for something, that hungers for something. They comes looking for sour things and sweet things. Sometimes they find it, unless it finds them.  Drawing deep on the menthol cigarette. Here is where those Things that can't be found in those well lit parts of town are.  Not like those safe places that the po-lice still pro-tect. The places where child-rens still play and the feeble minded feel safe.

The cigarettes faint reddish glow lights upon a smooth pale white object sticking out of the refuse in the dumpster. A flash of skin half wrapped in plastic, surrounded and partially covered with bottles and used paper napkins from the bar a few doors down.

Safe places,  and well lit places are the playgrounds, my playgrounds. When the childrens laugh and play, the mothers or the babysitters talk into thems little cell-phones, or read thems little books that they think is so funny. They talks on them phones to husbands, friends, or lovers.  No one watches the guardians. No one every 'really' watches, not like I watch.

Bits of half eaten chicken wings still dripping some sort of sauce, lay next to an open hand wrapped in black plastic.  Such pretty red painted nails. You never begged, not like them others. Chicken wings, used napkins, and plastic beer bottles surround the exposed hand. Ah, now you are hungry my dear girl. You never told me you were hungry too.

This hand would never again touch.  Never would that girl need food again. 

The cigarette, burnt down to the filter, drops into the darkly glistening puddle as the walking woman is almost directly ahead. Darkness wraps itself around the smoking man, one hand reaching out, touching the cold flesh amongst the waste, pushing it slightly and covering it with bones and sauce stained paper.  An obvious fear grips the walking woman.

 Did she see the sweet flesh under the garbage?

As Her pace had quickened, and she was past in less than a second.

Memories of pie and the color blue, come flooding into the mans mind. Sweet golden brown apple pie and steaming black coffee. Blue stripes on the plates and the cup.

I know you. I know you from the all-nite diner.

The walking woman is leaving her shift from the City Diner, after a night of serving the bar crowd eggs or pie and keeping the coffee flowing.


Your name is Mary or maybe Martha. So very hard to read  name tags so late at night. So hard to pay attention to the little things, when scanning the room for troublemakers. Drunken and foolish boys that think an "Old Man" is an easy target. How many will fall before they all learn? When will one of them get the upper hand, crushing my bones into gravelly bits inside this wrinkled sack of skin, purpling this skin with dark blood and bruises?

"See you soon, my dear" a whisper of sound trailing off as he turned toward the building and away..

The rays of the morning sun touch the buildings edges at the start of the alleyway,the direction the waitress had come from, as he fades into a stairway through an opened door with a burned out light next to it. A familiar sound of the city refuse truck turning the corner.

It's been fun darling. With one last glance at the resting place for the evenings hunger.

The door closed on well oiled hinges without a sound, the red painted raised numbers on the door read: 456 1/2. 

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