Am walking along, alone, when this thick banging begins in the distance. Have to wonder about it’s irregular beat, like a tired and lonesome hammerer who’s forgotten the time. Except it doesn’t sound like building. More like dying, really. Something morbid about it actually, the way it’s echoing, pounding through the other city sounds; the cars, feet, wind, storm, all broken into fragments by the beautiful banging that’s slowing it’s beat.
Back to it then.
Across the river the body of a murdered girl, presumed dead by her killer, raises a crowbar once more to the jutted steel of the foundation she’s been left in, and pounds as she slowly slips away.