Dinner in the Sewer

Disheveled and grimy
His blackened hands lift the manhole cover
And he emerges from the bowels of the sewer
In search of food
He seeks out the weak and vulnerable
As he does not like a struggle
With a dull knife in hand,
He makes his way to a darkened doorway and waits

Many walk past him yet never even see him
Seemingly part of the scenery, he melds in like a chameleon
However, even if exposed, he would escape the eyes of passers by
As that is the usual way of the streets
In solitude, he has time to ponder dinner
Shall it be flank, leg, rump roast, or blade?
Breast has not been had in some time, then again, the meat is not that fair
These thoughts make him salivate and grow anxious
Running his finger along his dull blade, he smiles

Anticipation is building and his stomach starts to growl
There is lone movement on the sidewalk and his attention is drawn
Drawn and fixed on that which wobbles from side to side
And is approaching slowly
He rises from his recess and readies himself for attack
Just as the body passes him, he applies a left arm choke hold
While repeatedly stabbing the kidneys of his victim
As the body goes limp, he allows for the natural drop
Lifting his dinner by the collar, he drags him off the nearest manhole
And disappears back into the sewer ~ Maggie 3/17/07 @ 6:56 p.m.