The night was hot and bitter. The air was too thick to breathe, and a sour yellow moon hung in the sky, fighting to illuminate the pavements despite the light of the half-broken streetlamps. Above, the heavy clouds were pushed across the sky by clear winds, but not even the dream of a breeze made it down to the level of the people drifting across the sidewalk. The paths of these people were aimless, as if they had meant to go somewhere and then all mysteriously lost their destination. Sometimes their motion would become purposeful -- but only for an instant -- as they stumbled to avoid a broken bottle or a crumpled sheet of yesterday's news.
The night was hot and bitter. Wolves prowled in the shadows, and rats grew fat off the scattered trash. Everyone had gone home. We are the ones with no home to go to. Only the lost remain.