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.. Optics roam the alley. Pedals tap idly on the brick mass. Talons toy with a loose curl. Not one to spark up a conversation, globes turn and stop on he once again. Inhaling the alley smoke; filled with the stench of drugs, gunsmoke, death, and public sex. another breath is taken. ..
.. Digits fumble in purse hidden under appendages. Revealing a white package. All knew which held the deadly of the deadly, a habit that was picked up young, and never was able to let go. Softly a purr emits labria. Damn Talons grips the purse edges, searching for a lighter. Needing to fill the 'call' which the ciggerates demanded on her, a free digit elevates to labria. Placing the cylinder between glossed lips. ..
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