He stepped out onto the street. The dark road was illuminated by the street lamp that continuously flickered. It made a distinct, low buzzing sound that could be easily passed off as a simple glitch in someone's hearing. It was eleven twenty three at night, and he was out when in the innocent reality of his picture perfect life, he should have been in the hotel, sleep, with his family. The switchblade slightly shook in his blood encrusted hand. His fingers were wrapped tightly around over the handle causing his knuckles to turn a sickly pale shade of his once tan melanin. He used his opposite hand to thread his fingers through his sweaty raven colored locks. His clothes were rumpled and disheveled, a contradiction of his usual attire. His face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat that glistened on regardless of whatever type of light was showing.
The young man stumbled over his own foot and cursed inaudibly under his mouth before he began to drag the body of a male with a similar built away from the city and into the outskirts of town.