He's a hunter without His prey.
His lips are parched and His stomach is barren. Afflicted with a biting hunger, He paces the tight corridors toward a brighter tomorrow, but tonight, tonight He's run-down, sick, and alone.
Slivers of memory whet His appetite with adrenaline, and the instinct to chase, to pursue, run wild within His pulse. His veins are highways under starlit night skies, and they carry the lifeblood that reinvigorates Her.
She's a crushed starlet without a night's sky as Her theater.
Her past is fogged with anonymous faces, and befouled with the slandering stupidity of dirty erections. Afflicted with desensitized senses, She stares through the tight corridors toward a brighter tomorrow, but tonight, tonight She's bruised, numb, and alone.
Her heartbeat pitapats disharmony that lure the depraved, but Her fists are clenched. She has a thirst for vengeance, but resigns herself to the shadows that crowd around Her.
Their gazes interlock–She and He–and for a moment, even the moon loses sight of Who is preying upon Who.