wildcat

He kept his head down as he passed the alley—a pack of Greys over by the trashcans, huffing low-quality space-gas from origami packets that crumpled in their delicate three-fingered hands. Space-gas wasn't going to help him. Maybe he make a few bucks off the Greys, let him probe his ass up against a wall for five bucks a pop. Their invasion was already a bust and they probed because that was all they were trained to do—a repetitive action that made them feel briefly normal under the scorching sunlight. He could relate, maybe, hovering around the mouth of the alley and scraping at the scab on his forehead with a thumbnail.