Riding home from a night of drinking had always been a pleasurable pastime. In fact for Scott it was more fun than the earlier part of such nights.
He was getting loud and causing a ruckus, just really enjoying his simple machine to the fullest extent of its capability. This particular night was no exception, hollering nonsense like a homeless crack head he played the part.
Riding down 10th street towards the train and on towards home was a regular enough ride, the pretty houses stop at Broadway. Beyond Broadway began what would be considered the slums if their were any such in the city. It is not like they were real slums you may see in the third world, just as his therapist would say it is a place of “lower socio-economic status.”
Scott grew up in a privileged family in the suburbs, a short train ride away. His father a Banker and mother a homemaker although she loathed the title. It was something that the modern era has deemed improper or in some crowds downright misogynistic.
The night was lovely and crisp and Scott was enjoying his usual nonsensical drunken poetry at the top of his lungs. The time was just past two in the morning, damn how he hated the early bar closure in this city.
Taking the sidewalk on the bigger streets a man of similar sobriety is seen on the sidewalk. Passing him nearly grazes the man, they each great each other in loud drunken fashion.
Getting off the main road an taking a smaller side road the yelling nonsense continues. A woman from her porch yells but makes no more attempt to mute his creative gibberish. There is a traffic light ahead with multiple cars blazing down the street, the first cars seen since he left the bar.
Stopping at the light and pressing the “walk” button he waited. A tabby cat was across the street watching the intersection in a calm protective manner. The light eventually turned red and only one truck waited perpendicular to his own course. Proceeding clumsily through the intersection he swerves. On his right he hears the waiting car rev its engine intimidating him.
Hearing the car race off the line and feeling only pain he seems to fly. Landing ten feet further into the intersection the truck is now stopped. Not being able to see only hearing a man get out of the vehicle. The man rummages through his jacket and bag taking Scott’s wallet full of cash meant for the bar. The man says in a thick accent “Fuck you and you family!”
Hearing the man and his truck leave he feels safe, legs both surely broken he is crippled lying in the intersection battered and bloodied.
The stray cat comes by to lick his wounds and purrs softly, no one else around the night is silent.
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