I was walking down a lane in an old district of London one evening when I suddenly realized that the light of a lamp-post cast a shadow that shouldn’t have been there.
It was in front of an old run down brownstone house. The other buildings weren’t modern of course, but they’d been recently refurbished. To me the windows resembled empty woeful eyes, looking on a world with which it felt no kindred ship.
The street light flickered and suddenly I felt dizzy. To my surprise a beautiful young girl stood not far from me.
“Ohi Gov, would you be wantin’ some company this evenin’?”
She was talking up an elegant gentleman, who looked to be in his forties. He was your classical strait laced Calvinist sort. I was fairly certain he wouldn’t be interested in her favours.
He looked disdainfully at her then hissed: “Harlot! Can one not walk down the streets in peace without being accosted by the likes of you!”
Then to my horror, he pulled out a knife and began to viciously stab her.
She screamed: “Oh Lord have mercy .. it’s Jack!”