By Paul Cosca
The tension, the penny, the shoe finally dropped. The blood, the brain, the overwhelming blindness and pain dripped, down from his bruised knuckles and onto the pavement. This one had been rough.
He stepped over the mass of flesh in the gutter. The thing that had been a man just a few minutes before. Now just waste.
One more monster off the street. One more victim. One more body. One more obvious case in the night, a mystery once the sun touched it. By then, the flies would come, knuckles would be iced, a beer would be opened.
Another good night.
Tight. Good imagery.