A Pianist In The Afternoon (IV)

The night had befallen and faintly but certainly, footsteps can be heard making its way down a darkened alley. The man strolling down the dampen alley, wore dark clothes and had a dark long coat over him and had unruly hair and a slight grin on his face. And he, as he might have always been described, had his cold hands in each of his pockets; one was probably playing with an unlighted cigarette, while the other was perhaps holding a loaded pistol.

And strut and strolled he went, down the moonlit alley and out into a corner of a backstreet. The backstreet was dark and foggy but it was moonlit (and "lamplit"), as has been said, and less people walked on it. Perhaps only the city's brave souls would be wandering off into such backstreets during such cold nights. Faintly, another set of footsteps was heard by the walking man, and it was coming towards him. Right on time. Murmured his thoughts and his grin became subtly sinister.

The other man, the one who was approaching the walking man, was much shorter in height and had blonde hair. He was carrying a briefcase on his right hand and he kept glancing at his watch on his left. It would appear that he was hurrying to catch his last train, and so he walked even faster without even noticing the man approaching him.

They walked past each other in a second and of course, it would seem that nothing had happened. The blonde man continued unto his path, hurrying out of the backstreet. The other man who had a grin on his face, had paused and looked up at the lonely moon. Looks like it's going to rain. And after pondering on some thoughts, he continued to walk down the backstreet, disappearing into the thinning fog.

Thanks to Neil Gaiman, and to Ms. Saddie (for introducing Neil Gaiman to me), for inspiring me to write again.