After a moment, I begin my walk home.
I pass by an alley that I don't usually take, but when I do, it cuts my walk to a shorter time since I don't have to round up the corner to get to my street. It's amply lit up, thankfully. And it's in between two apartment buildings with about 100 feet in length from one end to the other. I crane my neck to check the alley and I think it's safe, so I decide I'm going to take it.
On instinct, I reach inside my purse and my hand curls around the body of the pepper spray can, my thumb stroking the trigger. It smells of rancid garbage in here and the ground is wet with puddles here and there that I have to walk over or around. The cool wind brushes past me again and I pull my coat tighter around me, blowing out air and hastening my steps.
Something rustles a few feet away and I halt.
