See, there – he’s looking at me again. He is looking at me – I can tell. There with his glowing amber eyes, the soft glint of his pitch black hair, the way he runs his tongue over his incisors and back over his lips in a satisfied, gluttonous way. He stands up, stretches, and then saunters away, totally unconcerned that I’m hissing at him.
Cat – the stray cat.
I sit here crouched on the ground under my umbrella with my bare knees freezing, my school bag soaked, my converse sneakers wet to the shoelaces. It’s rain in this city, though it was supposed to be snow – it’s been December past and already January, but I haven’t seen any change in the climate other than unpredictable drops in temperature. It should snow already, I bemoan to the little sky visible under my umbrella line, watching Cat slither away down a gutter.
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