Fantastic and yet rather frantically, its a drastic step up from your usual interrogation. One fifty-two, still up, at the edge of the bed. Do you dread it happening again? It’s banging the only sense into him. Clapping from the street below the usual crows find their trinket in the form of another sleepless night. The sparkling animals intertwine, rocking the lamps pale yellow perimeter the glamour of their encounter was, not to exaggerate but, expunging. The lurking mastermind hiding behind the van precariously parked on the the path. Lunges for the nights knight. Swinging his blade “Give me your money!” he shouts. Slashing and gashing until the entangled couple find themselves in a battle for their life. Unhinging herself from him she tries to run but his brutish palm ensnares her forearm. Her intoxicated lover clenching his fist, he swings for the robbing body in front of him. Then in one smack the mans head cracked the side of the white van. Denting the exterior and leaving a think red blood stain. The two pertained to the consequences. Aged, homeless and lifeless the three lives combined in one moment of desperate disappointment. The age of compliment is truly dead.