I hear the footsteps three blocks apart from my tranquil, cheap room, click-clacking like a rapid heartbeat on my black humming night.
 
She's an old lady, a retired professor spied by a sinister man on his late twenty-year-old macho figure. I believe he was her student, but the way he asks her,

"Can I take you home, Ms. McGregor?" gives her a chilling effect.
 
The old professor was reminded of those hallway interrogations like a permanent curse attached to his caramel wedges. She saw a two-inch knife clipped to the strap of his trousers.
 
Sometimes, she meets strangers at the foot of the building, greeting them with an unconscious hello and some invisible smiles; perhaps they understood each other through the wires.
 
And one of them hides in the crowd.

To be continued.



© ubik



Postscript:
I dedicate this new short series to all of my beautiful readers, especially those love being thrilled. Have a great day everyone!

[image enhanced, sourced from pixabay.com]
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