I slink along darkened city streets lit only by the soft glare from closed-down antiques-and-collectibles joints. The burg is shut down tighter than a miser’s wallet at an orphanage bake sale. The deserted sidewalks should be rain-slicked, but that’s too much to hope for in the Age of Drought. Around here, we take our weather as it comes.
I’m alone with my thoughts when I spy a shadowy figure near the corner ahead. “That ain’t no dame out for a Sunday stroll on a Thursday night on North Marshall Street,” I say to myself. “This could spell trouble.” I slow my step. The figure doesn’t move. I stop. No reaction.
I slide my hand to my pocket and grope for my trusty 5S. I fumble. Why do they insist on lighter and thinner every year? I find my piece and caress its home button with my trigger thumb. Is there an app for this?
I’ve got to get 10,000 steps done before midnight. Strider007 and WindWalker3695 and not_john_t and the rest of the gang on my FitBit friends list are expecting it. I can’t disappoint. Hecky-darn. I especially can’t let them best me on the 7-day step total.
I nudge forward. The loner on the corner doesn’t budge. I feel my heart beating in my chest. Now this is cardio. I’m about to give way and make a hard-boiled U-turn when lights from a passing jalopy catch the face of Shadow Man. He’s just one of those scarecrow-hay-bale-pumpkin jobbies set up around town to celebrate the end of the Long Summer in Texas. Whew.
I walk on.
Rounding the Square 