Sacramento hums at night. The lights hum, people hum in various states of inebriation and sleep, even cars hum in their own way. Not the vibrant hum of day but the low hum of waiting. That patient feeling that falls over a city when most of its residents retreat to their homes, when the streets empty.
Except there's always those people out at night, the unfortunate, the bored, the amused, the predators. Then again most humans would run in terror if they knew of the real predators amongst them. What's worries true predators though?
That feeling crossing the street, right now. The walk sign is white, but right at the double yellow. Ice down the spine.
You all feel it.
Mother Moon hangs wearing her Waxing Gibbous Mask.