I pour a short Jameson on the Rocks.
I feel edgy. There's a light breeze flowing through my windows, but I'm sweating, nervously.
Earlier in the evening, the neighbor's kids kept running in and out of their apartment, slamming the door.
I involuntarily jump.
The mom is yelling at someone, arguing. Tension leaks through the stairwell and under my door. Tapping me on the shoulder with its chilly finger.
I've got this creeping suspicion that something is Terribly Wrong. I've screwed up something at work or in some relationship. Or something horrid is soon to be upon me. My palms sweat, damp with Liquid Fear. The Blue-haired Demons are working their way to the surface again. The black crow cries tonight: someone's going to die.
I'm scared a river is turning back upon itself, going the wrong way. Overflowing its banks; hiding, drowning My Path.
Packs of teens are roaming the streets, back and forth. Shouts and violent, unintelligible, words bark back and forth. Bitter laughter. White T-shirts and Blue jeaned black boys. The Birchwood/Wolcott Boys are Wilding tonight. Stay indoors.
There's a Bad Wind Blowing tonight.