The shadows along the streets were personal, and, every passing day, they seemed to grow longer and hungrier

The cherries on the ends of our cigarettes burned a bright orange against the surrounding shadows, like the stirring of embers, waiting for the phoenix to rise.

The Cottage Diner’s homey lights glowed onto black asphalt which just sucked up the beams to spit out more shadows.

Overhead the sliver of a moon barely illuminated anything and shadows slunk on every corner.