Little Benny doesn't find the evening sun that bad, he thinks that the lovely orange glow is quite beautiful. Benny slides his hand across the indentations in the wall where brick and brick meet. He whistles as he walks and his hat spins like its life depends on it.
Suddenly his hat stops, the wind drops and the alley's beautiful glow turns to a sickening darkness. Benny turns swiftly looking behind him, fear slowly clinging and creeping up his neck. His stomach curdles and then he sees it.
The image that will stick in his mind forever. The man, broken, at the bottom of the wall. Little Benny never did have the nerve to walk along the top of it, he's guessing this man did. Blood, crimson and shinging in the evening son drips down and into the guttra and now all that Little Benny can think of when he looks at the evening sun is that red red infinite blood slowly spreading across the horizon.