The street lights gave off a warm glow, reflecting off the moist pavement from the previous rain. Harrison staggered down the street, using one arm to support himself as he made his way towards his home. It had been quite the wild party for him and his friends. Drinks, girls, cards and laughter. But now the sun was soon set to rise and he needed to find his bed and fast. He stepped to the side, his equilibrium gone as the whiskey coursed through his veins. Each step jostled him and caused him to feel worse. It was going to be a long night home. Normally he’d have called a cab, but not tonight. Tonight, the cards had not been kind to him, and so here he was without two nickels to rub together and having to make his drunken way home. He leaned against a trash can, closing his eyes and then opening them again trying to will the world to stop spinning. He felt his stomach turning and he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly while mentally pleading with his body to behave itself. It was a few more blocks, surely he could make it to his bed; at the very least his couch.

He stiffened and blinked as the cool metal of a gun pressed against the back of is neck. “Now mister…” a young shaky voice said, “I dun wanta hurt cha, but if you don’t give me all yer money I’m going to…” the voice paused for a second, the metal of the gun moving over his skin from the quelling of the hand that held it. “I’m gonna shoot cha.” The voice finally said. Harrison rolled his eyes upward and slowly moved to a standing position, his back still towards the kid. “Look,” he said as he felt the gun drag down his neck, between his shoulder blades and down his spine. Clearly this kid was not tall. He shook his head and put up his hands, slowly turning around.

“Look kid,” he said as he squinted one eye closed and stared down at the figure. He was dirty, small and thin, and he looked terrified. “I don’t have any money.” He told him, “And by the looks of it, you’re not doing so well yourself either, eh?” he told him looking him up and down.

He reached out and took the kids gun, tucking it in his pocket. “Where the hell did you get a thing like this anyway?” he asked him once he was sure he was safe. He sighed and shook his head, just his fucking luck. “Look kid, help me get home and I’ll give you some money.”
“Gimmie your money now!” the kid shouted, trying to stand on the tips of his toes to appear more intimidating. If a hangover wasn’t already setting in with a steady ache behind his eyes, Harrison might have laughed at the absurdity of it all. Instead he pulled his hand back and smacked the kid across the face, sending his body flying. The kid crashed into some garbage cans and just laid there for a moment. “Look kid,” he said as he stumbled his way over to him. “you got guts, which is something different around here.” He reached in his wallet and pulled out his card and tossed it down onto the kid’s body.

The kid was holding his face, where he had been hit. Blood dripped from his nose and he looked shocked. It probably wasn’t his first beating, but he had probably thought that a drunk guy throwing up in an alley would be easy pickings. Harrison almost laughed again, but refrained.

“Look, get yourself cleaned up and come find me. You got balls kid, and I might know a job or two that you can do if you need some money and to get on your feet.” He nodded his head and turned, stumbling his way back up the main street towards his home.