Strike

Lying in wait, I have no need to move for all of my prey will come this way to me by day and night hid in plain sight has proved thus blending in, nothing around can see. Wet weather the conditions I like most preoccupied, my victims close in fast hurrying, heads down they move like ghosts the lucky ones, a few may make it past. The ones who don't, too late, no time to beg, no mercy , I attack, then I am gone, one jet of water up their trouser leg, they squeal and curse then slowly saunter on. Attack over, again I lie in wait, the wobbly paving slab on Friargate