a long night
"I told him not to Fred", he said to me as the sound of damp footsteps turned a corner and traveled down a sidestreet. The darkness in these alleys felt like a blanket to me sometimes and other times like these, the blackness just numbed me. Don stared blankly, smoking drag after drag with a noticeable lack of finesse; he hadn't told him a damn thing. I was just waiting there for some kind of ending but the dark was a friend I could never trust. In the distance we heard some muffled yells but I just assumed the bars were closing. Then some tires screeched and the sound of a few gunshots turned our tensions into fear. Don looked at me, wide-eyed with shock. We didn't say a thing, we both knew he was dead and we both knew whose fault it was. But that was a long time ago and I resolved never to talk to Don after that night or anyone else in that dirty business. Nowadays the dark doesn't comfort me like before, it just exists menacingly, almost threatening me to come back.