In the evening fog, trees clawed out of the earth like skeletons.
Which windows were more ominous: those that were lit, or those that were not?
One gargoyle screamed.
While another moaned about a bad back.
An angel of death rode around looking for souls.
Griffins emerged from their aeries.
As they waited for the fog to lift, they folded and unfolded their wings like butterflies.
Thinking their time had finally come, the trees plotted revenge.
I found a small room that was relatively safe, but due to the hideous tile, I couldn’t bear to stay for more than a few seconds.
Outside the trees were trembling.
Limbs and trunks moving everywhere in the fog.
Branches grasping through the night.
A brick path offered an escape.
As always, the subway was very late and crowded.
