The night

The night was strangely warm and very still for the uniform malevolence that skim-coated the flat sky. He started down hill, walking on the outer edge of the pavement. He hurried between lampposts, where the shadows were heaviest, and came to a full stop for a moment at every circle of light to skulk low and sleek with the fastest eyes known in darkness. Upon reaching the cross street at Centinela he stopped for several minutes on the corner to get his bearings. He stood there, poised. His solitude at the crest of the parking lot was such that if he did not go toward the fluorescent vapor of the supermarket at that very moment, he may never be able to encounter another human being ever again.

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