New York City: November 30

11:29

As he exhaled the cigarette smoke, it became indistinguishable with the white of his
breath. This probably wasn't the coldest New York had been, but it was the coldest
HE'd ever experienced. He had been smoking a lot lately, and he knew it. It tended to
pick up when the dreams did. With a flick, he sent the smoke flying. It landed on the
sidewalk and was buried almost immediately. He sighed and sank deeper into his coat.
Andrew Shrike was not noteworthy in very many aspects, or at least he wasn't
appearance-wise. His shortish dark brown hair looked choppy, as if he'd cut it himself
(which he had). He kept his tiny beard in as good of a condition as he was able to. All
that you'd think of when you looked at him was a handsome man in his early twenties
whom you forget minutes after seeing.
Noisily a tiny man plodded into the alley. He tossed a sidelong glance to Andrew before
pulling out a cigarette. Andrew wasn't ready to go back into the stuffy theatre, so he
walked deeper into the stuffy theatre, so he walked deeper into the alley and scanned
the sky, buried in between skyscrapers. The moon was visible behind the wispy clouds,
giving off little usable light.
Another figure shuffled into the mouth of the alley. What the hell is this? Andrew
thought, amazed at the amount traffic. This new figure was different, though. It was
another man, completely average in all respects save one. From where Andrew was
standing, it looked like the man's eyes were rolled back into his head. Spooky.
The man began shuffling towards the tiny smoker with noisy, heavy steps. The target
was oblivious, his back turned. Then Andrew spotted the thing in the shuffling man's
hand.
A tiny knife.
Andrew stifled a shout of warning for fear of becoming a target himself. Quickly he
ducked down behind a dumpster. The shuffling man raised his arm.
Wildly, Andrew went through ideas of what to do. Gritting his teeth, he moved into a
crouch.
Before he could take off for the armed zombie, the smoker, finally aware of his situation,
spun around to face his attacker.
Just in time for the slashed blade to slice open his throat.
Andrew gagged at the blackish-red blood which spewed out of the wound, staining the
virgin snow. With a gurgle the smoker collapsed, convulsing.
The killer straddled his PEZ dispenser victim and continued the onslaught. He brought
the blade down into his victim again and again. Head. Neck. Chest, the knife hitting a
rib with a sickening thud before sliding past into the deeper crevasses.
Andrew quickly stumbled to his feet and propelled himself towards the killer. Lowering
his head, he barreled into the solid midsection and took it with him to the ground. A
burning pain shot from his abdomen. He rolled himself around and saw the knife pull
out, now mixed with another brighter shade of blood. He off-handedly hoped that the
first victim didn't have AIDS. It was basically a surface wound; something he'd be able
to stitch up at home.
He threw the killer off of him and darted into the street. A police officer driving by slowly
saw the bloody mess and ran into the alley, gun drawn. With covert glances behind
him, Andrew snuck off towards his apartment.

12:11 AM

Dropping his beat-up wallet on the stained and faded table next to the door, Andrew
stumbled past the assorted clothing which littered the floor to the empty sink. Thrusting
his head in, he painfully and noisily vomited. With a cough to get rid of anything stuck in
his throat, he reached over and turned the faucet on, releasing a flood of water which
carried the stuff away. Unfortunately it didn't do anything for the smell.
He stood up slowly. The hanging lightbulb