Night walk

Last night I claimed I didn’t speak English.
You had cuts on your face and alcohol on your breath.
If you’d been beautiful, things may have been different.
I stepped into the floodlit complex,
I tried to tell my allies from threat.
Unsure if i could spot a nightmare at 50 paces.
I took the stairs two at a time.
Trying to escape the sound of my breathing
echoing around the concrete stairwell.
Glancing at the stained and chipped walls
The scene was suddenly familiar -
The gang jump from the banisters above,
the camera pulls back to watch the girl
shove through the double doors and
run frantically into the empty car park.
Her footsteps sound like gun shot.
There are one or two cars there.
One has gunmen behind it.
The other is mine, scruffy but secure.
I lock all the doors before turning the key.
The engine rattles awake.
‘Excuse moi no Ingles”
jumbled Esparanto style excuses.
My hands shake on the wheel as
I spin round twice in the traffic before
The one way system lets me out and home.