3.

Flashback, 10 hours previous.
Marc. What a fucking prick. He pours another shot and downs it with out even a grimace on his face. Half a liter of bourbon sits empty on his desk. Memories flash from earlier in the day. Some good.. Some bad. Sitting in an empty parking lot with Elizabeth around midday. Someday I’ll marry you and take you away from this hellhole. Laughter blurring into desperate pleading. Skip ahead. The sharp sting in the ribs, caused by a steel tipped boot slamming just below his heart. Just give me another day. Please. Laying on the cold tile with a small trickle of red coming from his mouth. One day. . One Fucking day. . Jobe, How are you going to pull this off. Think. The shot glass falls to the ground with a resounding thud. Jesus, I know we’re not on the best of terms. . but please, help me out with this one. I’m in too deep to run away and too guilty to hide. Two more shots until thoughts stand still. Troubled sleep and restless dreams. Elizabeth. . . I’m sorry. . The sun radiates through the holes in his vinyl tarp where a window once was. Shining directly in his bloodshot eyes. Oh No, he thinks to himself. . I’m fucking late. . .