f****d By The Homeless Man I
THE city’s breath, thick with exhaust and the faint, sweet decay of forgotten things, clung to me as I exited the towering glass and steel monument to my ambition. My heels clicked a sharp rhythm on the pavement, a counterpoint to the distant wail of sirens. Tonight, the usual hum of traffic felt muted, replaced by a strange, almost predatory quiet.
A shortcut, I decided, a momentary lapse in my otherwise meticulously planned existence. The path, barely lit by flickering streetlights, promised a quicker escape from the day’s demands. A foolish indulgence, I knew, but the urge for something different, something unpredictable, tugged at me.
My skirt, a whisper of silk against my thighs, rode high with each confident stride. I felt its delicate fabric brush my
