The Dog, the Stiletto and the Girl

He lit the cigarette. Inhaled. Hacked a cough. Spat. Splat! Walked five steps; click-clack, click-clack, click. Spun on his heel and walked five more. He raised his left wrist to his face. Squinted under the streetlight. Tick-tock. She was late. Again. Dropped his arm. Dragged the cigarette. Tick-tock. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. A drizzle. Click-clack, click-clack, click. Five steps into the darkness and no going back. Woof! Clang! A dog. Up ahead. Knocked over a trash can. Challenges him. He dragged on the cigarette. Woof! He dragged his fingers through his wet hair. Woof-woof! Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack. Woof-woof-woof. Fleck. He flicked the cigarette at the dog. It crashed into the pavement in an explosion of tiny fireballs. The dog ran. Turned. Woof! He bent down to pick up the first thing he could find. His fingers crushed a shoe. A stiletto. He tried to pick it up. But the owner still wore it. He let go. Jumped half a step back. Woof! Click-clack. Swallowed hard. Bent down. Reached for his box of matches in his jacket pocket. Crrrrrrrr. Slid it open. Pulled a match out. Woof! Ktshhhhhpffffffft. The match sparked to life and died almost at the same time. The brief flash was enough. He had seen her face. Recognised it. Despite the bruises and blood. Woof! Woof! Woof!

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