First cigarette at 6:41.
He had met someone. The night before. Not intending too. Which might be why it bounced so heavily about his mind.
His mind was elsewhere as Jim went on with his story. Relentlessly long winded, you only needed to tune in here and there to get the point of a Jim story. Good soul, who laughed at his own jokes.
Everything near the outskirts was scrapped. Nothing much left close to the river. Anything else of value gone for about ten blocks in from each side.
We didn’t have to go that far. But we did anyway. We got greedy.
It was probably the right thing to do.
I’d gotten old.
Didn’t take long. Hair once dark and thick turned grey and thin. Eyes sunk right into the skull. Hallowed looking sockets. The shine all but gone. Fevered and enveloped in deep violet. Violently. Wrinkles line the outline of a frown.
“A clown without the makeup,” my reflection said. “The sad jester of the court.”
He was nearly an old man, or so he thought.
She was hardly any younger.
Both had been successful.
Both had been married.
A modest one. Particularly when compared to his last job. His first job.
He did enjoy this one, though. Somehow. Something about those hokey-poke bars so far away from where he had come. That graceful stink of desperation. Or was that just cheap liquor and piss?