The weather was particularly graceful day, extending its hopeful rays down onto the city, scaling against the city like angel’s wings, glowing intensely bright and somewhat pure; as if trying to wipe away the sins and the deadly secrets that clustered through the streets. The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight, swept away by the ocean of pounding rays that consumed the city in an eerily light glow, but of course the shadows still lurked, skimming underneath the rays. That’s where you would find me, skittering in the shadows that formed, skulking like a predator with a soft but brisk step.

Shit happens, a line we are all familiar with, got acquainted, gradually got up close with the very line and experienced the very effects of it.  It was more of a fleeting mantra that passed through my life on occasion, made itself known while gone in a few days or a few hours. The Mafia business was no exception to that; shit happened almost daily, either you lived on through it or died by it. It doesn’t take a genius to know that, or to figure out that. It reminded me of the time I was the new girl, didn’t know what to expect and didn’t know what I should do, stuck in a constant state of confusion, batting my eyes and nodding my head like some dog. At that time, I realized it took more than just being some that, you gotta act, think and be on your toes, dancing through the mafia world while being smooth but evasive, smart and most of all loyal to the causes you invest and put forth. A claim is no good if you can’t back it up.

Your words would become nothing more than a fools word, a drunken tirade of streaming words that lacked conviction and that of truth. But of course, some sentences were like a pretty illusion, masking the intention or the goal behind it, coating it with a sugary persuasive substance, being the first thing that you taste and recognize. A chuckle vibrated in my throat, emitting through my plump lips as I leaned against the wall, shifting my back against the brick. What was the point of putting yourself through all that?

I flickered a cigarette out from my pocket, holding it firmly between my index finger and thumb, plopping it within my lips, as my lips seized the cancer stick. I flickered out another object, taking a hold of the lighter and bringing upwards, lighting up pleasure that would soon pass through my system like a calming cloud, relaxing all my senses and giving me a moment calmness. 

​Today had been a slow day, and a particularly boring one, as I stood here.