Fred was in his early 30’s, spending all his work life thus far as a humble garbage man in midtown Hornstown. Never having much luck with women, he lived alone for much of his adult life, and his primary sources of joy were limited to internet porn, mainstream films ... and last but not least some illegal stuff. This latter domain, deep in the bowels of his private life, involved the twin activities of dickflashing and voyeurism. He wasn’t particularly proud of engaging in them, but he couldn’t help, and couldn’t bother really. They gave him joy, especially when he pleasured himself while in the middle of practicing them. On the frequent occasions that he partook in this hobby of his, he had to wait till his shift is over, for obvious reasons. Then he was free to roam the late afternoon streets, hunting for lone females to watch and approach. Did he picture himself as pathetic? ... Did he care? ... No, not really. He was an alumnus of the I dont give a fuck school, majoring in do whatever pleases you, with a minor in whatever works. He had no further ambitions beyond working his shifts as a garbage man, and working the streets as a perv in his spare time afterwards.

It was a weekday afternoon in the fall, as grey and sticky as it can get. Fred was doing his final round of the shift for the day, standing erect (no pun intended) on one side of a slow-moving but noisy garbage truck while his partner Nick stood on the opposite side. They were hopping off and back on the truck as they collected and emptied big black garbage cans into the huge yawning mouth of the truck before it rode them back to the company’s lot to drop them off. Like on many weekday afternoons such as this one, he was rubbing his hands together in total stiff-dick excitement, at least in thought: the rest of the day was his to reign over. He changed his work garbs to casual and nondescript streetwear, said goodbye to his workmates and decided not to waste any time today even with a light supper. These casual pants, as always, needed to be easily and quickly unzipped and zipped, it was pivotal that they do that. The remaining parts of his streetware needed to be as inconspicuous as humanly possible. He didn’t want to attract any prying eyes on these streets, save for the ones on his actual target, normally cute girls in their twenties.

He skipped supper today because he intended to fully exploit the mild and clear weather that graced this late afternoon. Not a grey cloud in sight, no risk of rain. Before he left his tiny home with its dust bunnies and greasy kitchen floor, he double-checked his pants, unzipping and whipping out his now limp dick in front of his cracked mirror. His speedy technique worked, and he was proud of it. He descended on the local streets at about 5:30PM. They were still bustling with foot traffic as rush hour was slowly winding down. He always chose alleys and dark passages where even rush hour seemed less than rush hour. He walked, loitered, crawled around, seeking potential targets: unaccompanied young women. It was past six when he discovered his flavor of the day.

A tall, blondish hottie, sporting a fancy designer bag and a fresh tan, was walking away form Hornstown Mall in an even, relaxed pace, entering one of the many twilight alleyways that folks use for shortcuts. “I have visual”, thought Fred, and exhaled deeply, indicating focus and gathering courage. Then he shot out like an arrow towards the girl in the empty alleyway.

Her wooden heels echoed across the narrow street, and she didn’t notice the man approaching from behind until he caught up enough to be walking directly behind her, tailing her. At that point she stopped in her track and flipped around, her blond locks splashing her face sideways.

It was a lovely day out, warm for the season, but Trisha’s boss at the boutique was stiff in the back: if it’s an eight hour shift and there are clients dropping in, even if sporadically, then you girls need to stay put and work your asses off. The contrast of the sight of the blue sky and sunshine outside the window and the plethora of cold and warm ceiling lights and other LED lights in the boutique flipped Trisha out, at least inside. She held back, had to, and all she could do was counting the 30 minutes till 5:30PM, the thankful end of the shift for the day. 30 minutes was the approximate time span a client spent in her chair -- flipping through vacuous mags or chatting away about nothing in particular --, so she used this as a single time unit. When the time finally came, she was cheering inside when she saw that the sky is still bright blue out there. Her girl colleagues cheered along, at least the ones she liked, the ones bright and cheerful and joyous enough to care. They all went to change in the dressing room and said bye-bye for the day. Trisha decided to take a more extended walk than usual, planning to include local parks, squares and even alleyways she normally has not time or inclination to cross. She wanted to experience the sunny afternoon, or what’s still left of it. So she strolled through Beverly Park, taking in the vibrant sound of its loudly playing children, strolled across Horns Square where the two cafés still spilled onto the pavements with their open-air extension of foldable tables and chairs, hosting laughing couples and quietly studying college folks. Finally, she arrived to one of the many local alleys connecting squares and parks. This one alley felt almost surprising with its relative darkness, coming from the summerlike vibe of Horns Square and the rest of the open environs. She heard the clicking of her wooden heels in the narrow street, and nothing else. Until she spotted a quick shade brushing through the brick wall next to her. The sight compelled her to flip around without a thought.