In the dark, graceless footsteps crunched on gravel.
“Keep it down, idiot.” Sammie hitched his threadbare pants; cricked his neck.
Hook hung his greasy head, pimpled face infected. Dandruff floated to his shoulders.
“Look at that!” Sammie pointed, eyes bright as fireflies. A sinuous silhouette slid past the only lit window.
Hook patted pockets; his shoulders sagged; hands stuck in mid-air.
“You left it, where? So—Mr. Voice—you’re no Cyrano after all!”
~ * ~
The word limit for Left is 75 words. I used all 75.
For the rules to join the New Summer Quarter of Flash in the Pan, check out: http://mommasmoneymatters.com/flash-fiction/