Clouds shone dark, streaks of light drifting within; a few clawed through the sky of pitch-black.
Then descended a thousand droplets, down roofs, bleak windows─puddles forming on the quiet, barren streets.
Lights illuminated the block, paths devoid of human presence.
Afar, sound did travel. The water splashed, the slow grinding of asphalt followed and a shadow peeked right on through.
A taxi, a shell of former glory, drove into this alley. The flickering of broken headlights resembled dying candles. Tires came to a halt under screeching protest, upon reaching the trash bin.
The driver eyed the dim alley and said: "We here kid, and you owe me for that stunt."
"… You are a good driver," Alistair answered with clear shock, but his hands still passed the money over—plus a two-hundred tip.
"Oh!" the driver exclaimed before flashing a toothy grin. "Well, you ain't so bad kid, just a bit greedy, you."
