All Characters of The Shield belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.
Early Morning Musing
Lem sat sideways on the seat of his motorcycle. He was parked in the deserted lot connecting to the beach. Of course it was deserted. It was five am. The sun was barely beginning to touch the water with its orange early morning lights.
Curtis Lemansky stared at the sunrise over the Pacific Ocean. He thought too much these days. Thought too much. Slept too little. Ate poorly. Drank freely. Worried a lot. It was no wonder his stomach was killing him most of the time. An ulcer. That's what the doctor said, after Vic had persuaded him to go.
Well, imagine that! He thought sarcastically. Ever since their hit on the Money Train, Lem had been on edge. He knew it had been too good to be true. He'd been right. Marked money; Treasury Agents; furious Armenians; every day spent looking over his shoulder, expecting to go to jail, or worse. What more could a guy need?
Lem longed for the days when it was simpler. Lines were clearer. When he was a beat cop, it was easy: bad guys were identifiable. You locked them up. You washed off the day and went home. Now...so much was murky.
The sun lit the sky with brilliant pinks and oranges and reds and yellows. The waves splashed over the sand with a soothing rhythm.
How had things gotten so bad so quickly? Five years ago, he had prophesied his future. There might have been a promotion; perhaps a wife, at least a steady girlfriend; job security; a house maybe. Not this. Nothing like this.
He put his sunglasses on against the now steady bright light of the morning sun. He had to face another day. Another day of stress. Another day of not knowing what would happen next.
Lem straddled the bike and brought the rumbling engine to life.
How much more could he take?
Early Morning Musing
Lem sat sideways on the seat of his motorcycle. He was parked in the deserted lot connecting to the beach. Of course it was deserted. It was five am. The sun was barely beginning to touch the water with its orange early morning lights.
Curtis Lemansky stared at the sunrise over the Pacific Ocean. He thought too much these days. Thought too much. Slept too little. Ate poorly. Drank freely. Worried a lot. It was no wonder his stomach was killing him most of the time. An ulcer. That's what the doctor said, after Vic had persuaded him to go.
Well, imagine that! He thought sarcastically. Ever since their hit on the Money Train, Lem had been on edge. He knew it had been too good to be true. He'd been right. Marked money; Treasury Agents; furious Armenians; every day spent looking over his shoulder, expecting to go to jail, or worse. What more could a guy need?
Lem longed for the days when it was simpler. Lines were clearer. When he was a beat cop, it was easy: bad guys were identifiable. You locked them up. You washed off the day and went home. Now...so much was murky.
The sun lit the sky with brilliant pinks and oranges and reds and yellows. The waves splashed over the sand with a soothing rhythm.
How had things gotten so bad so quickly? Five years ago, he had prophesied his future. There might have been a promotion; perhaps a wife, at least a steady girlfriend; job security; a house maybe. Not this. Nothing like this.
He put his sunglasses on against the now steady bright light of the morning sun. He had to face another day. Another day of stress. Another day of not knowing what would happen next.
Lem straddled the bike and brought the rumbling engine to life.
How much more could he take?