Traffic was leaning against a lamppost, listening to the chirps of crickets as sleep seemed to overtake the demon. His traffic cone hat tilting over his eyes as his head angled down, and he shut his orange eyes.

Traffic was in a peaceful state, unaware anyone had been in the once active city of Crossroads, overtaken by the embrace of the cold, dark night, holding the city with a deep fog, dampening not only the spirits of those wishing to wander, like Traffic, but dampening literally..