I like watching the lamp-lighters on their stilts, the poof of magic and a flame appears, the somber illumination in the quiet dark. The playful shadows on the glass, I love the ocean at night, there is no other place to breathe, my sad whales on a black sea. The groan and ache of a carriage passing slowly by, a man who looks like a pale vampire inside, his regal top hat almost touching the arched-strawberry ceiling, the grunt of the cloaked horses and distant murmurs of unseen people or ghosts.
The drowsy bells of new arrivals ..a pulse, behold the heartbeat-like sounds of my harbor, an elderly Chinese man investigating his circular spectacles, the explosive quickness and robbing the rich, running like an exotic arctic-blonde fox through a slim and wooden corridor, my child body built for such work, if they follow you they're met with a knife, vicious puncture stings like a ferociously smart hornet, if they keep fighting then the milky black-blood will spill out like precious, intoxicated and tarry oil.
The tavern drunks on their pulpy stoop and rubbish piles will slur and bark at you, I bark back, my tongue is sharp and silvery, I flash a coin for the blade-keeper and a door opens, the den, the scent of expensive perfume, a waft of opium, a naked woman leading a man like he is a drunken moose to a red-glowing room, without warning, smooth, motherly and sisterly hands and fingers all over my face, blest among the church, the awakening dawn of another day.