At some point, as the fatty took a new turn at a corner, his steps disappeared.
If anyone had followed him, he would have come to find an empty dead end alley after the corner.
The darkness of the ghetto made the situation all the more eery.
The hot wind of the night kept its ballet going, and the tired bottom feeders used deep sleep to fight against the tiredness of the day, with no more energy to stay vigilant in this forsaken part of the capital of the Empire, and no having any other choice but to look forward to another less than ideal day.
The ghetto got its silence back without the disturbing footsteps, even if some Garsans equivalent of night owl should still be up and about looking for something more in their dull lives.
********
*Whoosh*
The minimum displacement of the wind belied the rotund frame of the culprit.
The latter was the short squinty eyes fatty that had left his work and disappeared in an alley.
