He looked down at his hands, old and worn. He inspected them closer in the dim lighting—or is it my eyes?—and saw the skin splitting at his fingernails. He rubbed them together and stuffed them into his pockets, wincing at the slight sting in his fingertips. He felt the items he carried in the tattered coat: the paper cylinder of fruit candies, the much-faded program from the theater last winter—what a twist that play had ended on!—the smooth metal of the knife. He strode forward, his heavy boots making deep dents in the soft earth and the loose sole of his left boot caught on a rock. He cursed and stumbled to the side, bouncing against the wall of the bar—could really go for a drink—the laughter from inside could be heard as the door rattled. The tin bell tied to the handle jingled; the owner hadn’t taken it down since Christmas, despite that being three months ago. He grunted and shoved himself off the wall with his elbow, staggering back into the center of the narrow alley.

He waited until the drunken bargoers had passed beyond the light of the streetlamp and moved out, torn collar upturned. The spot wasn’t too far, just across the street; he had parked a few blocks away just to be safe—should be able to get back to the car in time if this all goes sideways. The neon sign lit up the front window, showing a flickering ‘VACANCY’ next to the dimmed out ‘NO’. He stared at the outline of the figure beyond the frosted glass and pulled his hands free to breathe into them, warming them slightly in anticipation of the work to come.

It wasn’t like he wanted to do this. He was a good person, really; it was just money—and anyone who could disparage this had clearly never been without cash. Even to him, the words felt hollow, but he pushed the thought aside. He was good at that—practice makes perfect! He stuffed his hands back in his pockets and huffed out a breath, shuffling his feet and kicking his toes against the sidewalk, knocking the loose earth free. He shut his eyes and gripped the knife tightly, then relented and pulled out the roll of fruit candies. His hands shook as he popped one into his mouth and he coughed on the fruity saliva. He thumped his chest and winced at the sting in his fingertips, fumbling the roll of candies. He caught his breath after coughing for longer than he should have and stepped out into the street. He bent down, scrabbling at the loose debris in the gutter for his prize. He looked up just in time to see the headlights.