Backwards God

The night was steam and burning oil and all was still for precious minutes. How many now? How many seconds remained of peace? How many more before the din and furor began again? This was Crooked Rooster. This was the bad part of town. Along these cobblestones, nightmares crept. Curious shadows thrown from candlelit doorways. Were they enemies grappling throats or lovers bringing their partner in for a kiss? Was that noise cried out in passion or in pain? None of my business, I hurried past each break between the dark and labyrinthine alley-ways with my head low and my hand on my hat. I dared not make suppositions or pause along my quickening way to draw conclusions concerning the shadow‘s play. Be they the shapes of death or desire I could not hesitate to consider. I was searching for a particular door set in a certain alcove at a precisely memorized locale. My mission in the Rooster was explicit. I was there to see a man about a dog.

" I don't know what my path is yet. I'm just walking on it."

-Olivia Newton-John