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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “When the Walls are Paper Thin” cc&d (v259) (the November/December 2015 issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book from Smoke the cc&d July - Dec. 2015 collection book		get the 318 page July - Dec. 2015 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Lake City

Liam Spencer

    It was a miserable neighborhood. Drugs and thugs ran around everywhere, but only for a three block radius. Outside of that circle, everything was fine, even kind of nice. Yet, there we were, living smack in the middle of misery.
    The place was the now ex wife’s idea. What she wanted, believe me, she got. There would be no arguing. She needed drama. Lived for it. Not even her own family dared to take her on.
    The only time there was no misery was when I was at work. I counted down the hours until I’d get to return to work.
    It had been a long road back to getting on our feet. Our restaurant had failed. Largely it was because she had decided to not run the place. The restaurant had been a gift from her wealthy father to her, hoping she’d become grounded enough to settle down and stop being as insane.
    With the restaurant having lost so much money, I ended up in bankruptcy. I took that hit myself, willingly, rather than not being able to live the down horrible conditions she endured. Putting it all on myself would partially keep her off my back. I had escape in mind. Escape from the miserable marriage. The only way to appease her and her family in that eventuality was to take the hit myself.
    Doing so meant giving up my car. I had depended on it for mileage payments. Those payments were fully half of my income. We were poor. Dirt poor. I saved four hundred and found an old Honda Civic on Craigslist with low miles. It was old and rotted. Parts would fall off as it drove. My route was over three hundred miles a day. That meant a lot of parts falling off on the freeway. It was the only way to restore our income.

    I dreadfully headed home one night. I knew her fury awaited. Not exactly a religious man, I found myself praying for help to get through the night. I turned on to a side street. A guy who obviously was high on something staggered out in front of my car. I stopped well in time. He passed by, giving me the finger.
    I took a long, deep breath before making the right turn onto our street. Fuck. Here we go.
    Just before I turned into the driveway of the apartment building, flashing lights went off. A police SUV roared up behind me. I pulled over just five feet from the parking lot entrance.
    A tall, muscular cop came to my window. There was a giant sneer across his face.
    “Keep your hands where I can see them. What’s your name?”
    I looked at him puzzled and told him.
    “How many warrants are out for you?”
    I looked at him more puzzled.
    “None, of course. Why would there be warrants for me? I’m just coming home from work. I still have my uniform on.”
    “Yeah. Heard it all before. License and registration. NOW.”
    I handed him my license first, then registration. His flashlight reflected off both and lit his increased scowl. His eyes of rage showed clearly.
    “You HOPE there’s no warrants! I’ll find them, then you’re DONE!”
    His tone set me off.
    “There are NO warrants on me. I actually work for a living. See for yourself.”
    After a long, long while, he came back to my window. Now his face was pure hate and rage.
    “Here’s your fucking shit back. Don’t you EVER let me see you here again!”
    “I live right here. I’ll be here every day, coming home from work. Every day.”
    “Not if I catch you.”
    He stormed back into his vehicle and tore off.

    The parking lot was full again, so I would have to park a few blocks away and walk the dangerous streets, all in order to get bitched at all night by my wife. Great. What a great life I had found my way into.
    I parked the old beaten up car along a side street. At least the damn thing was dependable. A Honda, after all. I got out of the car, and turned. A staggering drunk came up and demanded my wallet. He had a knife. Before I could answer, he tried to come at me and fell. He began puking, and then fell in it all. I walked past grumbling about asshole cops never being around when needed.
    Shouting erupted a half block away. A huge man appeared behind people that were running from him. He was well known in the neighborhood for getting fucked up and doing crazy things, whether throwing shit or even shooting his guns at whatever.
    People scattered as bullets fired. I jumped back and hid behind my car. All the vehicles along that street where getting shot up, including mine.
    “You think you’re safe now? I have my other one here too!”
    More shots seemed to go everywhere. On and on.
    I lit a smoke. Fuck it.

    Eventually he went back inside, yelling profanities about how lucky we all were that he ran out of bullets. I quickly walked home, only pausing to take a deep breath to brace myself before facing the real hell that awaited me.

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