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Weekly Contest #211
It was dusk when he began to walk. The moon hovered near the treeline almost hidden by the thick brush that lined the two sides of the street. The street lights were flickering. A nasty orange huge washed the empty road, and still, he walked. Head down, one foot in front of the other. His shoes were so terribly worn down, holes grew in the soles. The laces were fraying. They had once been white, now a dirty brown-grayish color. But it was the only pair he had. He tried not to let the patheticness of the situation seep into him too much. ...
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