Ficly

Motor City Blues

A plastic bag danced across the vacant street.
You walked down the snow covered road, as the wind roared through the midnight sky.
The broken glass beneath your feet crunched with every step you made.
As you turned left, you are startled by a ferocious roar.
It is a pitbull tied to a naked tree, trying for it’s life to escape its chains.
You keep your eyes low as you walk by.
Things are easier that way.

When you walk into the liquor store you immediately gravitate towards the back.
It would be ignorant of you to dawdle.
A forty of beer in your hands, you walk to the counter and set it in the rotating glass case.
The cashier doesn’t check for ID
Instead he rings up your purchase and says, “Look kid, you better get out of here. Shit is about to go down.”
You nod your head, and cooperatively exit the store.

You are a block away when you hear the gun shot.

You don’t even jump at the sound.

After all, that kind of noise is common in Detroit.

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