I'm half dreaming, standing on a street corner in some city under a streetlight. It's dark, midnight or near and raining lightly, but from the reflection off the street it's obvious it's been raining for a while. I'm covered of course, wrapped warm and dry in a large coat.

As I take another drag off my cigarette, noise pulls my attention back to the middle of the crosswalk. Two kids on the ground, standing on her wrists while they beat her. The third stands by her feet next to the discarded black heels. The noise by now of course, is just the grunting of the three kids and the wet slap smacking of fists on flesh.

My eyes trail from the heels to the red ribbon curling it's way to the gutter at my feet. Fascinated for a minute by the dancing of the blood in the muddy water of the clogged storm drain, the buzz of the cigarette locking me into the easy spirals of brown and red.

I wake as usual, mouth dry, a thirst unquenched by water, or booze. I'm always thirsty these days...