I ran into a shady bathroom in a shady gas station and locked the door shut. I examined my bloody face in the cracked mirror, taking note of the huge cut I had on my cheek and the blood running down my scruffy face and neck and disappearing down my white shirt. I snorted as I turned on the faucet and washed my bloody face with cold water. I took a deep breath as I dried off my face with some paper towel and slowly left the bathroom.

The clerk behind the counter stared me down as I walked out of the dirty gas station, giving him an eye that made him look away. I didn't like when people looked at me like I was some kind of criminal. He didn't know me. What the hell was that face for?

I walked down the sidewalk, coughing a bit as I pulled a hood over my head. I ditched the assholes that jumped me. Five guys against me. They didn't know who they were fucking with. I don't take shit from anyone.

The streets of Brooklyn were cold and dingy. It had rained earlier and that meant the stench of the city was going to get worse. I hated this place. I wanted to get the hell out, but I had nowhere to go and no money to go anywhere with. I was a poor kid from the dumps of this shitty city. My dad was nonexistent and my mom worked two jobs just to keep the apartment in which we lived. I worked some times, but I always ended up getting fired thanks to my quick fire temper. I couldn't help it. I was not one to kiss some big boss's ass. And it didn't help that I didn't attend college. All I had was a measly high school diploma. And if we had lived in a city where sports mattered, I might have done something with myself. Box or play football, like a good All-American boy. But nope, not here in Brooklyn. This city was shit, and it'll always be shit.

I crossed the street and entered an apartment building, flying up two flights of stairs and taking a left and ending up at the door of apartment 3B. I shuffled for the keys in my jean pocket and stabbed it into the keyhole. I slowly opened the door, just in case my ma was asleep. I creped in and dropped my keys on the kitchen table. I turned on the kitchen light, noticing a note left on the fridge. I grabbed it and read:

Honey, I left dinner in the microwave. Sorry I didn't stay up to see you. I have an early shift tomorrow. Goodnight, son.

Love, Mom

I smiled as I folded it and put it into my back pocket. I went over to the microwave and opened it up, the aroma of homemade mashed potatoes and baked chicken filled my nostrils as I closed the microwave and heated up the food.

I loved my mom. She was a good mom, always taking care of me and trying to mold me to be a gentleman and all. It wasn't her fault I was a rude, manner less asshole. She tried her best. And at the end of the day, I respect her wholeheartedly and love her with every inch of me. She's the only person I love, really. Maybe because I don't talk to anyone else. Everyone else just pisses me off.

I ate quickly and washed the dishes, soaking the front of my shirt, as usual. I pulled it off as I walked into my room, throwing it aside on the floor. I took off my jeans and put them on the edge of my un-made bed. I opened up the second drawer of my dresser, rummaged through the t shirts and the playboys until my hands felt the bottom of the drawer. I kept feeling around for a small box that I have been wanting to get my hands on all day. I moved the clothes and at the corner was a small, red and white box of Marlboro Reds. Jackpot, I thought as I grabbed the box and opened it up. I took out a cigarette and grabbed the lighter and lit it up.

I inhaled slowly as I walked towards my bedroom window, looking down on the dirty streets. The smoke filled my nostrils, reminding me that I had promised Ma that I'd quit these deadly little shits. I'll get to it, I will, I thought as I took another puff. I stared at the cigarette and shook my head. If I don't get killed by thugs and criminals, then these little guys will do me in. My Ma was right; I'm too young to be smoking these night and day.

I just wished she would take her own advice and quit it as well. But of course, she has more nerves to be calmed than I do. All she does is work for my ass to have a roof over his head. And what do I do? Nothing, except get arrested, get into fights, have her pay some bails for me, and not even go to college. What a waste of a life I am. Ma deserved a better son. A better home. A better life. Someday, I'd give it to her. I just wasn't sure how.

I finished my cigarette and put it out. I heard police sirens go off and it caused my eyes to look out of the window, blue and red lights flashing. My instinct was to go out there and see what was going on. But I just shrugged and climbed into bed, falling asleep right as my head hit my soft pillow.

It was cold out, so I pulled my hood over my head. I had on a t shirt, a hoodie and a leather jacket. It was that fucking cold. I immediately took out a cigarette and began poisoning my body as I walked down the street with no particular destination in mind. I just do this because I figured walking wasn't a crime, and no criminals would consider it an offense to them, because it was usually my slick mouth that got me either behind bars or in a fight with the bad guys around here.

My cheek still hurt from the one punch got my face. Fucking bastard. He screwed up my face now. I inhaled and exhaled and got dirty looks from strangers as I walked by. If I wanted to, I could easily throw some punches and make those dirty looks appear as smiles. But I kept my cool. I didn't need anymore trouble. I always seem to find myself in the middle of a lot of it.

I continued down the street, minding my own, as usual, when a woman caught my eye. Her hair was red, and her face was porcelain, and gorgeous.

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