It's cold. Hands in pockets, I squint into the wind. The street is empty, the kind of empty where I think I'm doing something wrong. Then I see a light through the fog and hear a motor.
It's a motorcylce. Has to be. Closer and faster the biker approaches. I suddenly realized myself in the center of the road. I should move, I thought. I walked through the crosswalk and found the curb as the motorcyclist zipped past, away from me. Away and gone. The red tail light vanishing around a rocky, gray silhouette etched into the impenetrably dark skyline.
I found the night to be of my liking, most were, as if I made it to night, I'd have made it another day. And the days pile up and work piles up and memories pile up, but sometimes fall away, and here I was and I had somewhere to be.
I better hurry up. I don't want to cause my impending company any worry.
For tonight, I was going to kill him.