Rain ticks through the alley mouth and runs in black lines over the bricks. Junebell lies curled beside the fire escape, a half-empty bottle near her hand, breathing slow and heavy in drunken sleep.
Above her, the apartment building groans and sheds more plaster. Far off, sirens wail, a car horn blares, and the city keeps moving like nothing down this alley matters.
The Wet Thing
Gone.
A slick, lingering drip slides from the fire escape railing and vanishes into the puddles. The thing that haunted the hall is no longer there, only a stain of wetness and the memory of pressure against the door.
No one comes looking. No hands reach down. The alley stays empty except for rain, broken glass, and Junebell's snoring, stubborn little body.
For one long beat, the city simply ignores her. Then the rain shifts, the bottle rolls closer to her fingers, and the night waits for whatever Junebell does next.
“Junebell sleeps deeply.”
Rain keeps pattering on the fire escape while Junebell sleeps through it, heavy and unbothered. The bottle settles at her fingers and the alley stays empty, the city’s noise far away and harmless.
Rain stippled the alley in a soft, steady hush. Junebell slept on, folded into the wet dark, while the empty bottle lay near her hand.
The Wet Thing was gone, leaving only a damp stain and the city's distant noise. Junebell remained in drunken slumber, untouched by the indifferent hours. Above her, the rain kept falling, and the alley kept its silence.