No Title

The moon is in its last crescent and the letters are too faded to be visible in the dark. Spooky how races the mind at that time of night… any noise becomes suspicious… at noon, it is different as her alley is always easy to find: standing to everyone’s for no one to come… she’s always in the shade though, except at dawn when he greets her first, with its wakening warmth… then all the letters of her name shine like diamonds: Jane Doe, on her tombstone.