Predator

She walks about the darkened street reminescing about her younger self. Detached from the world she walks in pace, humming to make her smile. She knows the piece that makes her happy, it's lines wrapped safely within her reach. She toggles it's tone and rhymes alone to forward a destination unknown. Lamps light the cobbled street of broken weather-torn stones. She watches her feet tread their faces, hiding cracks that bear their history. Her voice seems to carry far, she believes the night will carry her through and the stars will protect her smiles.

He watches the dame - a pretty one - the gun tightly clutched to his chest. How promising will it be, he thinks, carefully shadowing her steps. Then he stops his pace when he hears her voice more clearly than before. The tone and pitch, a lovely wench, this woman begins to seem. He sits on ankles watching her leave, forgetting what had him there. She bounces out of sight, leaving him alone in the night, under the mocking stars that light his constant frown.