existential self-affirmation of an abstract concept

Time roams the streets at night, in search of warm things lost. The autumn air lies heavy upon the shoulders of the city, full of rain. The claws of time tick when they hit the pebbled streets. Time slows down for a moment, to sniff the air, to catch a scent. The light of the streetlamps makes the dead leaves gleam golden. With a snarl, time sets of again, through the empty nighttime alleyways. Its claws ticking ever faster, its eyes wide open, full of hunger. Time hungers for warmth. Time craves the feeling of living hot blood, propelled by a beating heart. To sink its fangs into soft warm skin. Time ticks through the lonely streets at night, in search of warm things lost.