He accepted the night. He always had. The street people never caused him any fear. It was a case of if he didn’t bother them, they wouldn’t bother him. The unapproachable demeanour which he carried also helped.
Every night for the past week he had walked alone puffing on a cigar and swigging from a bottle of rum.
There were people in his life, well, there used to be. Close friends were now replaced with distant memories. Thoughts of them used to make him smile and anticipate, now they only annoyed.
When he was young, his streets, were a no-go area in the early hours. Drunks, junkies and just the plain evil littered the alleyways but now, no-one could be fucked doing anything. Social Problems had been replaced by Social Lethargy. The young would sleep all day and instead of raking the streets at night, they smoked legal highs and played games. The alkies were still alkies but behind closed doors. Junkies, much the same. The ironic thing is there was very little to be scared of anymore.
The desperate in doorways would turn their backs and avoid making eye contact. They were also scared. The fear was from different days. Days that may have been more dangerous but there was some life in them.
Diagnosis stated that he had an issue. He considered this as he enjoyed his surreal eye watching himself walk. He knew where he wanted to go and was sure that he would get there. That and the rum made him feel a whole lot better. The clarity from the streets made him smile.
He headed towards the beach and heard the wailing of two cats either fucking or fighting. He wondered which. The wind became icier as he got closer. The nip in his lungs made him want more of the cigar.
He walked along the seafront until he saw the row of houses that sat behind a piece of perfectly walled parkland. He climbed over the gates and the whole place lit up. He strolled over to one of the mahogany benches and sat down. He flicked his cigar onto the grass and lit another one. He gazed over the wall and could see the darkness where the sea was. He had another drink and toasted the cats. He knew it wouldn’t be long. More fear where it wasn’t necessary.
He could see the flashing lights in the sky heading towards him. There was a screech and he waited on the instructions. They’d be ignored.
He stuffed his hand into his pocket, he knew what it would look like, knew what they would think that they saw. He wanted them to see that too, clearly and without reasonable doubt.
Death by cop, of a nobody, in front of the most affluent, was as poetic as he wanted.