Cold and Hungry

It is always like that on these damndable streets.

The street urchins stalk the streets in huddled silence, shivering in the cold rain as they splash down the wet streets. Water dripping from straggled hair, and craven looks of hunger as they pass by anything warm and edible in the store fronts and jeering anyone that looks at them.

What I wouldn't give for a hard drag of a cigar and a couple shots of Jack, instead of watching these young punks in the rain.

[sighs]

It always has to rain, doesn't it. Never a break for us workin' stiffs.

The rain doesn't really phase me much, as the dark leather duster keeps most of it off.

[reaches into the front pocket and draws out a half-smoked cigar]

I am not overly worried these punks will see me, they are too wrapped up in themselves.

With a quick strike the cigar is brought to life; lazy curls of smoke envelope my face in a grey haze. If anyone had spied me from my dark corner, the sight of two hard red eyes staring out of the grey smoke would unnerve many and make most look the other way trying to forget they ever saw me.

I have that effect on normal people.

Old habits are hard to kick.

[slowly puffing on the cigar, the darkness briefly flares red as the coals of the cigar get sucked to life.]

What's my story?
I am a throw back. A hard pair of knuckles and a thick head.

I am the person people call in when they don't want to get their prissy little hands dirty. They don't want to acknowledge the dirty side of the the street; the hardness and what crawls around in the dark underbelly of society. So they call on me.

They don't like me. They tolerate me, only because I serve some purpose to them, otherwise, I too, am beneath thier upturned noses.

I am many things to many people - some glad I am around, while others ...well, let's just say if I am coming for you, it will not be pleasant.

Things are not always what they seem and I found that out the hard way one night as I was out on what I thought was a simple 'job'.

[snorts in disgust and shakes his head slowly.]

Simple. Yeah right.


{To be Continued....}

Welcome to the Midnight Hour.....

As the last echoes of the Midnight toll fade into the night, a strange sense of forbidding descends with the darkness.

The sounds of the night become sharper to your ear.

...was that a scream nearby or some strange animal?

It is the Midnight Hour, a time for the wanderers of the night to come out - to hunt, to seek, to play.

Will you be the one they seek or perhaps to play with?

Or will you be the hunted?

I am the Nightshade, a wanderer of the night.

On the Midnight Hour, is where my time begins........