Tomorrow, I clean my closets.

The goons are out in the neighborhood tonight.

Harley and I were a few blocks away from my apartment, turning a corner, when I heard a gunshot.

I stood still, watched the street, and had two thoughts:

1. Shit. My closets are a mess! If I get shot again my mother is going to fly up, and get buried under an avalanche of laundry.
2. I wonder if I will feel myself fall or if the light will just click off.

After a moment I cautiously continued down the street. Everything was quiet. We were halfway down the block when another shot came from behind the houses. Harley looked up at me like “this is some bullshit.”

And it was.

Once I got to the end of the block, a sketchy guy wearing all black flew around the corner. He clutched something in his coat pocket. I avoided eye contact and kept Harley in a short leash.

Sketch turned into the alleyway, and I made my way to a busier street.

Tomorrow, I clean my closets.