The passing of time is something fascinating. It's relative, stretchable depending on the point of view. A second can be measured perfectly in an atomic clock but our mind doesn't perceive it always the same. It relies on the feelings of the moment, on what we do, on the circumstances that surround us. From this flexible perception of the passing of time is where I've gotten the inspiration for the short story in this post.
Seconds drop slowly, magical gift of that quietude. For a while the rain falls and its drumming lightens the wait. Not a soul in the night, no traffic at all. Just her in a hidden corner, dark. Doubt makes its obligatory visit but she frightens it away with her temperance. They'll come, she's sure. Or she wants to. At last, some mute lights flood the alley and she smiles herself coldly. It's the moment to cash the fruits of her patience. Time speeds up when she goes toward her prey.