​

As if the commotion never happened, the night grew too quiet for clues—when nothing is heard, no guesses occur. In a twinkle, energies run out, and the night is only marked with occasional snores and dream mumbling. I’m veiled by shadows in a bus-shelter, twenty feet from Gypsies, a secret observer on an Anthro quest and a personal mission. Am I writing Confidential Confessions from Anthro Fieldwork? Maybe.

Two A.M. Rat catchers down the block were cooking their prey over a campfire. A taxi horn in the distance wailed and died, whimpering a worry among the shadows.              (Part One, Chapter 5)