Stu turned the corner and walked, shin first, into an old fire hydrant.
Stu leaned over to rub off the pain. As he leaned, Stu’s forehead connected swiftly with the top of the hydrant.
AAAAAAAHHHHOUUUUCHHHH!!! MOTHER… FUCKER!!!!’
Blood ran in a single stream from the crease of forehead directly above the point of his right eyebrow. The brow, the filter before the stream, started to matte with blood.
Reflexively, his hand, balled into a fist, moved towards the cut only to be blocked by the same hydrant. Stu’s fist struck the semi-broad side.
GAAWWWWD DAMNNN it!!!
He fell to the ground. His body, writhing beneath the solid silent warrior, formed colors of purple, green, red, black. Stu slow rolled to his back, looking up at the twilight skies of October.
In his sight, two vultures hovered.
Their wingspans – glorious.
Their shadows – graceful, haunting.