There was no moon. No streetlights. Rarely a passing car. A few houses, but none with lights on at this sort of time.
He hid in the bushes, dressed from head to toe in black. He could make out a figure approaching. Hear footfalls on the pavement. It was her. She had no torch this time. He had the element of surprise.
As she neared, he pulled the balaclava down, covering the last few inches of white skin, and stealthily emerged from the bushes.
The sun dazzled him. He fell. She ran.
Damn. This would’ve worked better at night.
