There's Always One

It's a balmy summer sunday evening. I'm strolling home with the supper-beer, when I feel I'm being watched. There's a slight peripheral movement and a vague buzzing. I turn and see our non-kosher friend here guarding the pathway, fizzing wasps and dripping gore, basking in the London sunset.
Like a fool, I didn't go back when the light was even more spooky, and the lamplight would have really set the scene. The next morning it had gone, probably to feed foxes.
The whys and whos will never be answered. But my problem is to try to produce an image which removes me from any blame. This is probably the best I could do.