It's getting to be a cold evening, but I still have the window open. Somewhere, close by I think, a windchime is touched by the night air and sounds like the wailing of a lost ghost. The local backyard hounds begin barking, a stacattto song. Further still and the traffic on some unseen road is like the ocean crashing against a shore.
In short, I just ran out of cigarettes and must go to the shop
