Yonder stands a man in this lonely crowd

Man who swears he's not to blame

Curly Shepard had never seen someone look so careworn before.

The girl that stood above him, hugging herself, seemingly unable to even look at him anymore wasn't anything like the girl he'd intentionally wanted to pay a visit that particular morning.

The dim light from the streetlight behind him revield the noticeable dark circles underneath her eyes. She had missed a button on her blue shirt, a bit of flushed skin showing. Her every breath was fucking tease. But that's just the dope talking.

Tim had, in his more dulled moments, given Curly descriptions of this kind of, whatever this kind of shìt was, but Curly had to admit that he'd expected something a bit more admirable, less raunchy. Her being a working woman and all. Being the smartass he claimed to be he should've known better, though, his ma wasn't exactly a beauty anymore either.

"Curly, it's two in the morning" She said sternly. "What do you want?"

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" He said, becoming a little sterner himself. "Can't ever get a fucking hold of you no more"

She looked down on her hands which were shaking slightly from the cold. "That Right?" She questions sadly. "I been home a lot, you know"

"Yea, I know"

Curly smirked lazily and leaned up against the window frame, gazing up into her dingy eyes. Before he knew it his hand reached forward timidly to stroke her arm. He just wanted to touch her so bad. Her skin looked so girlish and warm, much in contrast to the brisk November air that were slowly sobering him up, with each cold, harsh pull of breath.

"Don't," she cut him off firmly and pushed his hand away. Her smile had disappeared before it was ever truly there. Curly retreated and, much displeased, stuck both his closed fists into the pockets of his worn-out leather jacket. He took a step back and glared at her.

"What? Ain't I good to you no more?" He asked sullenly with a deep frown "Hey, I know I ain't prince jolly on a bleached horse or nothin', but I've been the best me I cloud fucking be this last month, I'm telling you"

He didn't just think he'd been good, nah, he fucking had. He'd done everything Tim had asked of him - even a little on the side - and still managed to keep his nose clean of the fuzz for almost four weeks, that's a fucking month. He'd thought about her a lot too, didn't that count for nothing no more?

The girl laughed, then. It was a miserable, shallow imitation of her once light and sweet giggles, and it annoyed the shit outta him. This wasn't his damned fault. It wasn't his fault she'd ended up like this.

She still had her arms cloaked around herself like a shield. - And right at that moment, in the darkest hour just before dawn, he felt he could finally see her clearly for the first time in a long, long time. Despite the booze, and dope, and whatever lies he'd fed himself that night, he saw her. - He didn't fucking want this to be his fault.

"Yeah, well," she said muttering as the disbelieving smile slid off her dry lips. Curly looked up from his tattered boots as she pushed her dark bangs behind her ear, from where they hung, lusterless. He bet her hair smelled real nice tonight, just like it always did, kinda peachy. "Maybe the best you just ain't good enough."

All day long I hear him hollerin' so loud
Just cryin' out that he's not to blame
- Nina Simone - I Shall Be Released