It was late

It was late. A cold night. The wind swept through the town and I felt like a wanderer. I forced my way through the chilly thick air in haste. I knew this was dead man’s alley. As I passed the threshold my stress heightened. To my side I could see the park shrouded in darkness. Damp, cold, fearful. In my hands I carried beams. Two torches with which to bring the light. And there before me a rogue of the field.