Ordinary Days and Extraordinary Nights, Installment One

Installment One

It was in the middle of a bank robbery that John almost realized how precious live truly is. Just almost.

"Everyone on the fucking ground, now!" one of the robbers shouted, discharging his shotgun into the ceiling. Plaster fell from the ceiling like snow flakes as the unfortunate people in the bank quickly flattened into pancakes on the ground.

There were three robbers, John noted. They all wore black, and they all wore bizarre masks, like it was Halloween.

Certainly, they meant business. The teller had likely gone for the alarm, as John could see her lying on the ground, unconscious. Fortunately, the three robbers seemed to be nearly done a few minutes later. After they had left, the police arrived. Typical. 

John sighed as a burly police officer waded his way through the crowd to accost him. 

"Ah, sir. I'll need your statement now." the officer said. His voice was gruff, and a little hoarse, as if he had been shouting recently.

"Yeah, sure. A masked guy in a black outfit screamed for us to get on the ground and we all did. I think he knocked out the teller. Oh, and they all had guns." John said.

"Er...anything else, sir?" the police officer questioned. Clearly, he thought John was mentally handicapped.

"Uh...not really...officer." John replied.

"Well, I'll go talk to other witnesses. Call me over if you think of anything. My name's Jack Benton." the police officer said. 

"Sure." John said, walking away. It was dreadfully boring, and John contemplated asking an officer if he could just leave. He longed to be back at home, drinking beer and maybe lighting up some weed if he had time. Of course, he wouldn't voice any of this to the police.

It had to be at least 10:00 PM when the police officers said people could leave. Happy to oblige, John wandered out onto the streets as quick as possible. As per usual, the streets were clogged with people, bustling about, doing their daily business. His apartment building was a few blocks away, but he was panting by the time he got up the stairs into his small, but comfortable apartment.

The floors weren't elegant, the walls hardly had any nice features, the TV was broken, and he had a stereo with two blown speakers. He could barely afford rent, and the floor was littered with empty beer cans and needles. He had tried rehab, and he truly didn't like it. He sat on his couch, and it sagged in a few inches because the springs were broken and he was too lazy to fix them.

After a few minutes of relaxation, he was undeniably thirsty. John sometimes found it hard to haul himself to the refrigerator, but he did manage. With a sigh, however, upon opening the refrigerator, he noted their was no beer. Resigning himself to a walk, he left his apartment hastily, wallet in hand, to go to the nearest drug store.

It was wide open, and people seemed to be exploding from every crack of the store. He made his way to the back of the store, where the coolers were, and pulled out a six-pack of his favorite beer. After paying for it, he got out of the store as quickly as possible. The streets seemed to be emptier on the way back.

It took John four minutes to realize he was being followed by a man in a gray trench-coat. Pulling upon years of street experience, he hurried his pace. He knew his apartment building was only a half a block away, so he wasn't too worried. 

Even as he made his way to his apartment building, the man followed. John didn't have to be a cop to realize the man was following. No one needed to be  a cop, if they paid attention. He didn't turn around, and he didn't concern himself too much. The heavy concerning would come later, as he tried to sleep.