Everybody looking for something.

She never looked back. Her black, red rim pumps clicked on the sidewalk. Her hips swayed smoothly in her tight cocktail dress. Blonde locks glowed lightly in the Sunday afternoon sun. The noise of her suit case's wheels dragged an ungodly harmony across the cement. This noise layed on deaf ears. He stood stock still. Her words were a piercing silence which rang through his skull.

Some of them want to use you.

His hands curled and uncurled as sweat dripped from his brow. She never looked back as she slid carefully into the black Sudan. And with a click of the door words filled him with fear.

Some of them want to abuse you.

Slowly, it seemed. In a blur of color, he ran. His feet were lead and his legs were jello. His finger barely scraped the black paint of the trunk. It sped away, quickly leaving him.

A tear slid down his cheek, a watery smile formed at his chapped lips.

Sweet dreams are made of this. Who am I to disagree?

A bittersweet end for a bittersweet dream. Very bitter indeed.