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Turner

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I want to feel your gaze upon my flesh as we hug the exhale out of my smokey lungs. The cigarette turns grey as I flick to drop the ashes on the sidewalk, then bring that yellow butt back up to my lips for a long drag as I wander these damp, dark, downtown alleys, looking for a place to slumber and thinking of the girl I just let go from that goodbye hug at the movies. The thick smoke entered my mouth and danced in a trance until I broke the spell with oxygen to carry it down to my dark lungs. The drag that came next was better than the last and; was my last.
The bang could be heard all over New York that silent, cloudy, dark night. The pain entered so suddenly that it made me jump, dropping my lit wander stick to the ground. My hand putting pressure on my chest and then coming into my newly flicked lighter to see blood; thick, red blood.
It had to be done, someone had to shoot that poor, lonely b******. I wipe the barrel with my shirt to make that smoking .32 caliber pistol shiny silver again. Walking into that spotlight felt like I was under another police copter. It almost scared me. I kick the bloody corpse to check if the beat was gone. No response. "He's gone," I muttered to myself. My raspy voice disgusting me. Why did I smoke so much? I need one now just thinking of it, but my wallets thin and the closest store is two blocks away. I look down to see he was smoking so, I decided it'd be worth it to check.
I reach into his pocket to find a pack of Paul Malls. Harsh but will quench my crave. "Don't mind if I help myself to a cig buddy?" I muffled under my breath. I flick my lighter and bring it to my new kind of cig. The smoke takes me away to a calming happy place. This city will never be happy, it isn't even a city anymore. I check his other pockets and find nothing. Nothing but a wallet.
He opens that wallet to his horror, the cigarette dropping from his mouth. He looked at the body he just dropped and then back at the wallet. If anyone else was watching they wouldn't understand what he'd just done.
I watch from my scope on my rifle on the 4th floor of the Better Heights hotel. My crosshair between his pathetic eyebrows.
He grabbed the corpses arm and tried to drag it, leaving a long blood streak out of that alley and to his car. Just what I needed, a blood streak for his shoe print. He stepped in it several times and left a good mark for the cops to find in the morning. The body in his car. The engine roaring away as I pack up to follow.
The stench of that old beat up Jimmy reaching my nose as I get in my Pontiac. The license plate looks brand new compaired to the rest of that old car he's driving. I thought of where he might put the body ran through me.
I drive the junker through the city with the body in the trunk. What can I do about a dead cop? The newspapers will cover this like a cockroach cover old tuna. Where should this one go? I need to put this body somewhere where no one will think to look. But where?
These same headlights follow me. It has to be a spy or some one that would've seen the murder and decided to follow. They are Pontiac headlights. I have a body to take care of, these lights can't mean anything. I just need a cigarette. I pull out another Paul Mall and light it hoping to calm my nerves, which didn't work. I was worried this person knew, I was worried where to put this body, and I was now worried I would die soon from these cigarettes.



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