The Man in the Hoodie

I removed my grip on his legs. I still cleaned my hand as I pulled away, though it was closer to resembling strands of mucus now. The head crushed easily like a spoiled gold. A few minutes more and he finished melting into a paste as thick as oatmeal. The clothes were easily removed from the mess. Extra limbs were concealed by wrapping them about the waist giving the appearance of a little ponch. Arms were pushed through the sleeves and misshapen hands were hidden in the front pocket. My skin naturally had the appearance of old, worn denim, especially in the night light. No one should be awake at this hour but if they saw me they might just think it