Waking the streets, come on bring it on. What’s the worst you can do?
The sunlight was weak, watery. Pouring from the window giving the room a silvery white sheen.
Detached air in lungs. Bright clothes promenade passed. There must be a human inside of them, surely. Weak sunlight on the street. The shadow of a couple walking arm in arm stark on the ground; over his torso after that they dissolved into the day.
The clenched jaw of the street was unfamiliar. Unusual compulsions led to dead end alleys not to video shops.
Where was he?
Who was he?
©DJA 2016
From the Compendium of One Hundred Word Stories
The Angry Farmer 