I gave up my dreams.

The mist encroached the fog.

the night was  silent

but for wind, string and percussion.

Shall we ever rest easy?

I rest my faith in a palm reader.

the bamboo whistled from the kinetic

I have become my worst fears.

The night can trickle the most mundane of thoughts into reality. Our man walked into the night in what could be a warm embrace or cold resolve.

At this time only the coin eyed chased the dragon.

His haori made passer by wonder

‘what man of this sort tramples this backstreet at such an hour’

His breadth reeked of sake.

His eyes had that look of  trance that most men have  when they have lost something.Most of the time the embrace of a youthful bossom.

The dark fabric of his kimono disguised the wounds of stealth seeping blood from his belly.

Like many other men of the same disposition,

Takeo had felt the wrath of a woman scorned!