Screamer, waiting for the lock, the door to open early.
Cold wind down the back of the neck, standing in doorways.
Bunch of keys swinging off a tiny back pack. Tiny black something
animal following behind, leaves it’s marker, a scented trail on
doorposts down the street of locks.
CLIMBS UP SCAFFOLDING:
Puffed up manly, glimpsed up alleys, brazen tool belt swinging.
Black & Blue.