Such is fear when it strikes you. In an instant your heart starts to quicken, you have the ears of a hare, the sixth sense of a deer.
When there is no sound you hear something breathing.
Where there are no people you see their shadows.
As you crouch down and try to manoeuvre yourself through the dump quietly, the north wind, ancient and chilly, extends its clawed fingers and leaves strokes of icy trails to form on your back.
Then snap! You crush a tin can. You mimic the quickness of a mice as you scamper behind more piles of rubbish cans.
Silence.
There is no threat, you calm yourself.
You keep moving, round the corners to freedom and there