Shadows

They walk in isolation. Who are these shadows? Nobody asks, nobody cares. He walks lamely. She with the easy elegance of a childhood discipline. He mumbles an incoherent mantra to the rhythm of the traffic. She hears him and asks, 'Would you like some wine? ' He stares at the bottle. 'Give it to me or I'll kill you! ' She falters. He plunges a knife into her chest. 'Oh, Jesus, ' she cries, slipping to the footpath. He sits her on a bus stop seat smoothing her dress, and putting on a shoe that had fallen off. The crowd hurries on to its destination as a single shadow stands, bottle in hand, silently sobbing.