It is across the desolate lot, covered in tendrils of shadows that dance beneath the streetlights, where I see them. Strangers cloaked by their own burdens, tortured silhouettes against the night sky; as they near, the streetlight closest to me flickers. I have my car keys in one hand, but am only partially in motion, as it has always been apparent to me that the darkness is the worst of places to try and hide.
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Penana
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