The outline of the man could be seen, but only just.
His eyes glinted out louder than the traces of his body.
He called again:
“Balkey, boy!” and walked into the light, tall and mean.
“I hear ya, ya coot,” Balkey mumbled back and kept
strutting, kicking dirt into the wind, his gloom sinking
his shoulders only so. “You don’t want a bit of cool amber?”
queried Cataran, his inflection laced with riddle, as he liked.
“I spent it all at Coral’s!” Balkey lied, yelling more than
he needed, feeling more like a kid the closer he got toward
home. Cataran kept smiling, but let his long body slink
to the shadow of his doorway: the threat of a silhouette
and some fire eyes. The boy walked on, hands in pockets.