rumble on the cobblestones

Shouts and loud voices in the alley, male deep, female shrill, some loud.
It is four in the morning, the night's entertainment is coming to an end for some, crowds indulging in loud conversation outside.
The night is coming to it's end.
Four nineteen in the morning.
The cat is up and about. -humans are up = chance of food.
But the cat is unsure, a nocturnal animal, and retires to another corner of the house.

There are fewer people passing by outside, there are no people any more. Occasionaly, the sound of cars. That is all.
Indoors the clocks tick, and then a person makes an exclamation outside, in the alley.
A car passes, the radio thumping loudly, the party continues inside the car, at this hour probably homeward bound.

Sit at the wooden table in the dark, the light from the faux street lanterns coming in through the windows, the wooden framing throwing black linear shadows on the wall. There are two empty bottles of water on the table, a few place mats.

The summer is slowly coming to an end, today on the twentieth of August.
And just to write down this description
took sixteen minutes, it is now four thirty five.
And another car passes, out on the mains street.
rumble on the cobblestones.