The Quiet Storm

The eve before the black out, I sat out in the all black 1968 Lincoln continental waiting for her ass to give me the signal. “Had the job been done?” I thought to myself. The night’s atmosphere was loud and busy lots of small things going on dogs barking sirens everywhere. As I rolled my blunt with the best purple haze my heart fell cold I immediately knew the job was done. The light from my lighter lit the whole car in the darkness. I took one long pull and felt my conscience disappear the dark smoke cloud began to seep out the crack in the window of the car. I look down at the time on my old army watch 0500 it stood still. She slowly paced he long slender legs back to my car.
Its done daddy she said with a confidence that couldn’t be replaced. “Good” I replied as I reached in the glove box and got the brown paper-bag out. “Here for being a good girl”, “thank you daddy,” she replied. As her tall fine ass walked away I watched her ass bounce a little with every step. As she faded into the darkness I got out of the car of course I had to make sure the job was done I don’t trust no one I learned that from my five years in federal. As I walked up to the shit whole of a living arrangement I realized my heart normally full of revenge is empty. The sense of clarity was there. The raggedy door nearly fell of the hinges as I pulled it. The stench of piss and old garbage blew passed my face as I walked through the hallway. The numbers on the door 603 had a rust shadow behind them. The door was slightly opened so no forced entry or key was needed as I pushed the door closed I realized that the outside of the complex says nothing to how the residents are living with in the confines of their homes. The hardwood floors made my walk sort of loud considering I did have on a new freshly shined pair of dull tipped Stacey Adam boots. My surgical gloves fit perfectly no rubber residue, no fingerprints.