Ernest was on his way somewhere. He did not care for what was to come nor did he look back. He would leave everything, except some satisfaction, far behind in some alley he had no memory of by now.
“Ease up, Old Man. Breathe.”
He arrived at a street and waited, panting. However, the pouring rain was not the only thing dripping down his long-soaked coat.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
There, just beyond the street, a figure stood oblivious of what was streaming down Ernest’s side.
Patrick Muczczek 
Leave a comment