[ the man in question allows this for several streets, perhaps checking that the set of footsteps echoing behind him in the fog are indeed following his exact path. he doesn't change his pace, but at the next dim alley mouth he hesitates a moment and then turns in, quickly swallowed up by shadow. it's a dead end, full of stacked boxes, and any windows are high above and shuttered tightly. there won't be anyone coming to look in on them.
he turns to face the mouth of the alley and his pursuer, scuffed shoes braced wide apart and hands loose at his sides in readiness. blood drips from the still wet fingers of his bare left hand. ]
no subject
he turns to face the mouth of the alley and his pursuer, scuffed shoes braced wide apart and hands loose at his sides in readiness. blood drips from the still wet fingers of his bare left hand. ]