He listened to the street lights sing in a hum hung under neon skies sheltered by sky scrapers. The smell of piss and dreams filled his lungs, laid bare in open air free for all to whiff - the passerbys passed. Paying him no attention he put his hand on a tattered flier. "Nude La-" it read in circus text. "Luna." He flipped the words around. "Dune?" "La Dune." He imagined the sand-ravaged bar like something from planet Tatooine. A swarthy site seated on the sketchy side of a sinkhole southwest of the Sarlacc Pit. A chuckle escaped his lips at the thought.
Rain. Tears from heaven? Maybe instead the dripping sweat from a more creative process. After all even the Gods make love; why else is the sustainer of life a liquid? He tilted his head back and smiled. Refreshing was the sensation against his skin. So refreshing in fact he missed the scream of a woman across the street. The water was the perfect temperature for a warm summer night. Nice and cool, but not frigid. He looked down, "That's curious," he thought "I didn't know water was red..."
Collapse. Black out.
Headline: "Crime lord killed on Broad St. -details page 6"
Shuffled page. Funnies Section; You're a Good Man Charlie Brown.
What did that woman say?