Salamander

It was sticky hot outside even as the sun was slowly hiding itself behind the hills of Georgetown. The city side river bank of the Potomac was littered with cans, broken bottles, and derelicts shuffling around with nowhere to go. Two brightly colored sculling boats were gliding through the water in an exhausting spectacle, the rowers grunts clearly audible as they edged each other out again and again. Traffic above the river on the Key Bridge was finally starting to thin out, the angry horns and grinding truck gears becoming less frequent.

Summer was edging towards fall. The creaky screech of the cicadas a distant memory. Soon the banks of the river and C&O canal would be an explosion of colors as the leaves turned, drawing people along the rivers edge and the foot paths that skirt the canal.
In the same city block, Luther's mind was dark with hate again as he leaned against a chalky bridge stanchion on K Street in the shadows beneath the Whitehurst Freeway. A paint crusted rag matching the flecks in his beard hung from the pocket of his tattered green jungle fatigues.
A small drunk man stumbled across the sidewalk in front of Luther towards the river, probably in search of a place to relieve himself without getting arrested. Luther was sure the man was headed to the abandoned sea container, it is a popular spot, within feet of the water and offering privacy from anyone except river traffic. The twenty by three foot strip of muddy bank between it and the water was not for those with a weak stomach. The man was familiar to Luther, not someone passing through to get south before the cold season, it was also still too light out. Luther pissed his own pants, farted, and headed towards M Street.