I had wanted to go home,

my day, not what I

had planned for myself,

had consisted of feeling the bitterness,

of remaining

in my bed with no radio

to soothe the soul,

instead it culminated

with being outside,

the soft sounds of Jonathan Walker fighting

in the cold

and the strength of wind

biting chunks of my resolve,

of the vestiges of my tormented will,

as the snarl came from behind me

thick and strong

but not to my face,