Lust.  Rage.  Jealousy.  Operatic formula there, in B Flat.<br/><br/>Back out in the street, traffic had picked up.  Somewhere nearby a great bell was tolling the hour.<br/><br/>...three...four...five...<br/><br/>There, on the far side of the maddening crowd, Sunny saw a figure crouched on a low rooftop, watching her.  Cat ears flicked with amusement as the woman licked her chops.<br/><br/>...eight...nine...<br/><br/>But the Cat made no move toward her, content for the moment to be seen, to remind Sunny that she was, at least in the minds of some, prey for the chasing.  From here, absent her little guide, she was free to go wherever she liked, if only she knew where to go.<br/><br/>Her mind caught a bit of graffiti in day-glo orange paint inside an alley not too far away, and at an angle that would hide her from that pesky Cat.  Now who did she know who did spray paint in such bright colors?<br/><br/>...twelve...<br/>...thirteen.