His
feet stamp through the fresh white snow
giving
me an easy path to stalk and follow.
The
Chicago streets are empty: except for he and I.
Gas
lamp after gas lamp fades as I slowly creep bye.
I
know he is there;
he
doesn’t know I’m here.
Catching
him from behind, with a brick, I land a solid blow
and
stand smiling, gleefully watch his final breath flow.
Red
oozes warming and painting the powder covered street.
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