I looked up at the engine above me, my practiced eyes searching to find what else was wrong with the damn car besides the brake pull. I checked the sway bar and sighed. Everything seemed to check out.

I slid out from beneath the car, the ceiling of the auto garage familiar to my eyes. The sounds of power tools did well to drown out the low hum of the radio. The calendar on the wall with pictures of practically bare women was a few months behind but that wasn't too unusual. Yes, everything was exactly as it always was.

I stood and looked around until I saw Harper, his shirt was already sweaty and his face serious as he looked at the car I'd been working on.

"Harper, the engine checks out," I called to him, brushing my hands against my jeans in a useless effort to get the grease to rub off of my palms. Harper, my boss, looked over at me and grunted to show he'd heard.

"Hey kid," He called to me as I turned to help the new guy change a fan belt. I whipped the dark hair from my eyes and walked up next to him and together we stared at the 1975 Buick Skylark I'd just been under. "What else?"

"It needs a tailgate window relay," I nodded at the vehicle. Harper just grunted again.

"How much is that gonna' cost me?" He asked, as he looked at me from the corner of his eye. He trusted me when it came to cars, he always had, not that he'd ever tell me that and I did well to pretend I didn't know.

When I was about ten years old I used to help him steal and strip cars, back when his business was all shady. Now it was a legitimate business…at least during the day, and I worked there whenever I could.

"Twelve dollars if we order it," I replied but I left the other option unsaid although I knew he wouldn't steel such a cheap part. Lately he'd only been stealing the top-dollar parts that were getting hard to come by.

"Twelve?" He muttered and then rolled his eyes. "Well, if it needs it, it needs it."

I nodded and went off the tell Jimmy to order the new part but suddenly Harper's hand grabbed my arm and halted me. I stopped and quickly shrugged the heavy hand from my shoulder as I looked back at him. His face was as calm and bored as I knew mine was. We must've looked like we were at a funeral with such sullen eyes.

"You heard about that 1993 Pontiac Sunbird I lifted last night?" He asked and I gave him a questioning look.

"Yeah," I said. "The new guy asked me to come show him how to repaint it. I figure we'll make it silver. Cops never notice silver cars," I shrugged, looking around the shop in a bored manner. "Where's it parked?"

"I don't want you to help out tonight," He said and my head snapped to look back at him, my eyes wide. "You heard me, kid. You're pale under all that grease, I know it. I don't need you puking all over the car. You're sick, get some rest tonight."

I sent him a scathing look but he knew me enough to ignore it.

"I'm fine," I said quickly, rubbing the back of my neck and undoubtedly spreading grease against it. "I've held up to today, right? I'll be fine."

"Get some sleep," He said dismissively before turning to walk over to another car.

"Listen man, I could use some extra dough," I said with a shrug. He paid me enough to cover my rent but I still wanted to get even with the sons of bitches that took my money the night at the bar. I hated losing. It was a fault, I know, but damn it if I hadn't lost a good amount of money.

"Get a cheaper hooker," He said mockingly and I sent him another cutting look but he just laughed. "What? Can't an old man joke anymore?"

I let out a few swear words under my breath but he heard and laughed again. "Can I get in or not?" I asked a bit impatiently, leaning my weight on one leg and looking at him dead in the eyes.

"No," He said easily before turning and walking away. I glared after him before turning to kick the wheel of the old skylark. My frustration rose up a bit and I shoved my hands in my jean pockets and stalked off to order the part we needed, ignoring my now sore toe.

I hated being dismissed like some damn three-year old.

Especially when I could've handled it.

---

"Ronny, you're a no good cheater!" Someone was yelling as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. The bright light made my eyes sting compared to the dim lighting in the garage. "You heard me, get out!" The woman continued, her yelling getting louder.

I smirked, sidestepping to avoid a door flying open. A heavy man walked out, grumbling to himself as pieces of clothes hit his back, being thrown out by his (now) ex-girlfriend. He gave me a look and I just kept walking, not wishing to get in the middle of any domestic disputes.

"And don't ever show your dog-face around here again!" The screams still filled the air and I couldn't help but crack a small grin as I walked farther away. Some men have no luck. And some women have no taste….

The pavement was uneven and I kept my eyes on the cracks as I walked down the road, leaving the yelling behind. The people I passed did the same, none seemed to even notice the commotion. Or at least they didn't care.

Trashcans lined the sides of the buildings and as I passed alleyways I caught sights of various alley cats, waiting in the shadows. A few were brave enough to hiss but most stayed farther back. Laundry hung across the wires from window to window between the buildings and the hum of cheap heaters came from the windows above.

I looked around the familiar setting, barely even bothering to watch where I was going.

What a shit hole.

The whole place was a dump. The streets, the buildings, the people. Everything was dirt poor and hopeless. It'd been years since roadwork was even attempted and buildings that should've been taken down ages ago still stood and housed too many people.

It was sad if you thought about it, but I tried not to. It was pointless to think about things you couldn't fix. And complaining about stuff got you nowhere.

Besides, I was a part of this wreck, this city, just like everyone I'd ever known. I was born to poverty, brought up poor, and I'd die deprived of money. That was something I'd faced a long time ago.

"Hey Butch!" Someone called from across the street. I turned but kept walking as I watched my brother run towards me. His blonde hair was shoved under a beanie and is blue eyes were smug as he reached me.

"What now?" I asked when he fell into step beside me. His grin made me weary and his laugh was a bit unsettling. "Boomer?" I asked with a bit of impatience.

"Chill man," Boomer laughed and punched me in the shoulder. "I just wanted to say sorry for last night."

Last night?

Oh yeah, the game of pool.

"Whatever," I mumbled, slightly surprised I hadn't gotten to yell at him for it first. I looked away from Boomer and glared at the ground, unsettled.

Last night.

The pool game, the drug store, that girl….

My head hurt just remembering how sick I had felt. I had gone home and fell asleep almost instantly after all that. The Tylenol had helped I guess, for what it's worth. I let my mind skip over the blonde, not really feeling the need to dwell on such an annoying thing.

"Well I know a way to get your money back," Boomer was saying, snapping me out of my thoughts. Instantly I forgot about the night before, my mind focused on a more important topic.

"How?" I asked with interest. Boomer was smiling, which I had learned was a bad sign. But his enthusiasm was a boost to my own and over the years he and I had gotten in enough trouble that I wasn't too sketchy about it anymore.

"Well, you know those punks from the bar?" I nodded my head. "They all hang out in the abandoned warehouse every night. They probably keep all their cash with them there. We could get your money back…plus a small bonus for effort."

I smirked, my mood elated.

My, my, how the tides change.

"Do you know which warehouse?" I asked and Boomer just grinned, plucking a toothpick from his pocket and placing it between his teeth.

"Mmm," Boomer confirmed, nudging me with his elbow.

"Fine then. As soon as the sun sets…we're going to pay these boys a visit."

------

"Good evening Butch," Mrs. Botstein said sharply as she pulled sat on her chair on top of her stairwell. Well, technically it wasn't her stairwell but everyone on the block knew that she sat there everyday, all day, just watching the people on the street. I was never really sure why but then again it wasn't as if I'd ever asked.

"Evening," I said as I shoved my hands into my pockets, fishing for my key.

"You're brother out of jail yet?" She asked as I came into line with her. I paused, tossing my key from palm to palm, to offer her a small smile. She didn't offer one back but she wasn't much for smiling to begin with.

"Not yet," I said with an air of indifference. In truth I didn't know exactly when Brick got out of jail but I wasn't about to admit that. I gave her a cocky smirk. "Why 'you asking? You got a thing for jail birds Mrs. Botstein?"

She gave me a harsh look that was truthfully pretty scary but I just kept smirking. "There are enough people around here in and out of jail that I wouldn't need your brother if that was the case." She dismissed my question as the batted a gray lock of hair from her eyes. "I was only asking so I knew when exactly to expect it. I don't like when trouble sneaks up on me and if you three boys are anything it'd be trouble."

"We don't cause you any trouble," I said while turning away from her and heading towards the main door again. I heard her sigh and mutter something like 'troublesome hoods…' before the door swung shut behind me.

------

"Ready?" Boomer asked, his breath low and apprehensive as we crouched down on top of a dumpster, staring into the warehouse window. From our position we could see about ten guys strewn around the inside of the building, some counting money and a good few of them either too drugged up to drunk to do anything productive.

"Are you nervous, you wuss?" I asked, my voice mocking and Boomer sent me a glare.

"I don't like messing with people who are all doped up, you know that," he said with a bit of scorn. "They don't think about consequences, I'm not willing to get shot over some petty dough."

I sighed. "Come on, we ain't going to sit here all night like a couple of pansies," I snapped, this was his idea after all. "Let's just do this."

"Thanks for the words of encouragement O Fearless Leader," Boomer said dryly but I was already antsy and ready to fight. There was no backing out now.

"I'm not Brick I'm not going to baby you," I said while rising up and jumping off the dumpster. "Are you in or out?" I called up, keeping my voice low but Boomer wasn't listening, instead he was staring into the building.

Finally he said and hopped down, the thick soles of his shoes making a light smacking sound as they hit the pavement. He looked over at me and offered a slightly nervous smirk and I just nodded.

"Ready?" I asked, although I shouldn't have had to. Man, usually Boomer was more on task than this. Brick needed to get out quick or else our blonde brother just might go soft on us.

"Yeah," He said.

Together we took a step forward and as one we kicked the door to the warehouse, the hinges giving way and the light from inside spilling out to greet us.

"Hello boys," Boomer laughed, at once in tune with himself, our task, and the thrill of the fight.

---

The air in my apartment building smelled pretty bad, but that was usual. What wasn't normal was the abundance of smoke in the air. I went in, my body slightly sore, and walked towards the stairwell.

The landlord, Vick, was stepping out of his office just before I reached the stairs. His bald head was shining even in the slightly flickering light and he seemed agitated…but that was normal.

"What's with the smoke?" I asked, leaning my shoulder against the wall beside the stairwell. I could feel a bruise forming on my left shoulder that would match the one on my cheek perfectly. But the weight of the money in my pocket and the sack over my shoulder made it worth it.

"The new tenet damn near burned the building down," He said, barely even looking over at me. "I had to haul myself up there to put out the flames. All this for cooking brownies! Who burns brownies?"

Who actually cooks brownies? I wondered but said nothing as I turned and walked quickly up the stairs, my walk actually more like a jog. My body was tired but I ignored the feeling of drowsiness.

Because if it was the new tenet that burned the brownies…that meant it was in the apartment next to me.

"If my stuff got brunt…" I muttered below my breath as I walked onto my floor, passing by a few other residents but not bothering to acknowledge them and not caring if I seemed rude.

I stopped in front of my room and besides the slightly heavier smell of smoke nothing seemed wrong. I glared over at the door to the other side of me. Now I was slightly weary of my new neighbor. I hoped burning food wouldn't be a normal occurrence.

I heard a shift in the other apartment and frowned. Ignore it, I told myself. Just ignore it.

And so I let myself into my apartment, stashing my newly acquired money and heading for the shower. The water was only warm for a few minutes before the cold water kicked in but it still did good to wash off my (as well as some other people's) blood from the fight. I rolled my tense shoulders and leaned my forehead against the cool tiles.

If I was honest with myself (which I tried to be for my own mental health) I knew I was still sick. I could feel the fever getting higher and I knew half the bruises my body now sported could've been avoided if I'd been more coherent.

But I hadn't been. My head was still pounding and I felt nauseous.

Harper had been right.

But still, I hated being sick.

I sighed and stepped out of the shower, not even bothering to towel off before walking to my bedroom/den and pulling on some boxers. It was morning already but it was still dark outside. If I went to bed now I just might get a few hours in.

My body was sore but my headache eased a bit as I fell back against my pullout couch. The air was cool against my burning skin and the sheets and pillowcase seemed to stick to me as I let myself relax.

A pack of cigarettes laid half-empty on the floor just within my reach and I almost grabbed for one. But the air was already filled with the stale smell of smoke and something told me adding to it wouldn't be the healthiest thing.

So I sighed and closed my eyes, the familiar sounds of the city lulling me into a restless sleep.

----

I was young. About four.

I was invisible to the world. I was what people didn't want to see.

So I chose to hide myself from them. All of them.

There were countless amounts of them, these men that came into my home at night. Some wore business suits, some wore uniforms, and some even wore wedding bands. But they all wore that same dead look in their eyes and cold smiles on their faces.

My mom brought them in. Her makeup was caked on and her laugh hurt my ears.

And every night she just ushered them in.

My brothers and I did well to stay out of their way. To stay out of sight. We avoided the men's feet and eyes and watched from under tables or behind the couch as they each made themselves at home.

In our home.

We did our best to be invisible.

We cringed away from their talking, their low throat moans, and their clothes as they were discarded across the room. We knew not to be seen but we couldn't help but see them. Hear them.

We knew if we were seen there'd be trouble. The men's shoes hurt against your ribs, their voices were harsh and raging to your ears, and their hands were heavy against you when they struck. They were never happy to see us.

So we hid.

But they never stayed for long. And once they left we were allowed to come out. We were allowed to be seen.

"My boys," My mother would sigh, looking around and eventually finding a robe to hide herself. "My dear boys."

We'd go to her then, tired of hiding and wanting her comfort. She'd pull us to her and she'd smell different and her laugh was softer. Her hands, elegant and worn, would stroke our hair.

"I do this for you," She'd say, and her eyes would look wet and her smile was never very happy. "You know how much Mommy loves you, right?" She's ask and we'd nod and smile at her, because it's good to be seen. "I do this for you."

And the next day there'd be more food in the fridge. And we'd get some shoes if we needed them. And that made it okay. That made hiding that next night okay.

"I do this for you…"

----

A loud thump was heard and immediately I was awake. I sat up in bed, stretching out my tense muscles and swinging my feet over the side. I didn't bother folding my bed back into my couch and stood up into the bright sun that came into the windows.

I walked into my kitchen intent on eating and forgetting about the dream I'd just had.

Another sound was heard and I realized now it from coming from the apartment next-door. I frowned, dreading even more the idea of these new neighbors. It seemed they weren't going to be quiet ones.

I grabbed a carton of old Chinese food and popped it into the microwave, intent to ignore the sounds from the room next door. But unfortunately they persisted. I growled slightly, my quick temper even more dangerous in the morning. It wasn't as if I'd never had noisy neighbors. I did. In fact everyone in this building had issues with keeping the noise down.

But I was sick damn it and the noises were bringing back the headache I'd hoped to sleep off.

I sighed and pulled on some jeans and an old t-shirt, not even bothering with shoes, before walking out of my apartment and stepping in front of the one next door. Without hesitation I pulled back my fist and banged twice. The knocking seemed to stop the noise inside and I waited a second before the door came open and the smell of smoke became heavier in the hallway.

My mouth went slightly slack at the image before me.

"You!" The blonde girl said in shock. Shock that mirrored my own.

Dear lord… I thought. I had absolutely no manner of luck at all.

I quickly recovered, making sure my face displayed my annoyance and covered my surprise. Because it was…well…her. Tylenol girl.

"Do you mind keeping it down? Some people are trying to sleep," I snapped.

She seemed taken aback by my reprimand at first before her blue eyes flared. I took that detail in with a bit of interest.

"It's ten o'clock!" She said shrilly to the horror of my pounding brain.

"So?" I asked, not seeing her reasoning.

She put her hands on her hips and for the first time I noticed she was wearing an old fashioned waitress uniform. The pale tan color of the cloth made her look horrible and she looked slightly tired too despite her obvious growing anger.

"So? So that means I'm allowed to make all the noise I want," She snapped before stepping back to slam the door shut. Before it could close, however, I stuck my foot in and stopped it.

"Keep it down or I'll make you," I warned. It was an empty threat for now because I was too tired to actually think of something to do to her if she kept it up. But I was sure with a few more hours of rest I'd be able to back it up.

I noticed her eyes got wide and panicked for a second and I remembered how she was lost the other night. If she was new around here, then I could use that to my advantage since she was obviously not used to situations like this despite her bravado.

"I'm going to work soon so you'll just have to deal until then," She said but now I could see past her fake bravery and could sense her nervousness. Her blue eyes were untrusting.

I frowned. Honestly, how did she expect to make it here if she couldn't hide her fear? She'd get eaten alive.

"What're you doing that's so loud anyway?" I asked, despite my better judgment. Usually I tried to make conversations as short as possible.

She hesitated and I was amazed she was even considering answering me. She definitely didn't fit in around here.

"I was just looking for my other shoe," she mumbled, swiping at a piece of blonde hair that had fallen into her face. The nervousness was gone and she was suddenly very tired.

"Well," I said with a frown, my eyes scanning over her and looking down to one bare foot rubbing unconsciously against the carpet of her apartment. My eyes then caught sight of her nametag. "Betty, you're being louder then hell."

She seemed confused for a second and I honestly questioned her mental state again. There was a good chance this girl wasn't all there. A very good chance.

Great. Now I had an annoying, flightily, half-witted neighbor.

"Betty?" She mumbled, brushing the hair out of her eyes again. Her face scrunched up a bit into a look that made her seem all too childish. Then her face cleared in understanding. "Oh, my name's not Betty."

"It's not?" I said, my voice a bit bored and my stomach aware that there was some uneaten Chinese food waiting for me in my own apartment. I refrained from tapping her nametag and shouting 'Yes it is you dumb girl!' only because that would require more energy then I had.

"No," She laughed. Her whole demeanor lightened with her smile and I frowned. "My names is Bubbles."

Like that's much better, I thought dryly and I just nodded slightly, wondering why I was humoring the girl.

"Butch," I said quickly, shoving my hand at her through the small crack made available by my impending foot. She smiled at me, her eyes no longer untrusting and instead leaning to a more humorous look.

Her hand was soft as it reached out to grasp mine and I didn't grip it back because it seemed so, well, small….

"Nice to meet you Butch," she laughed before I could remind her of how loud she had been. And still our hands were clasped. "Feeling any better?"

I slid my hand from hers and pulled my foot back. I felt suddenly very young again, like a freshman in high school and not at all like an adult with his own apartment and a grand of stolen money in the next room over. I frowned at her.

I was really very sick.

"Much better."

-----

It's just one of those days
When you don't want to wake up
Everything is fucked
Everybody sucks

----

Sorry it took so long to write. You see, I fell in love. Yepp, that's my excuse.

But despite that I'm going to try writing again because my personal life shouldn't come in the way of this. And writing is a good distraction (in case you didn't know) when you want to forget, well, everything….