The desolate city was alive. Bustling with people who all indistinguishably come out at this time for one thing. One simple thing. Pleasure. And if it wasn't for that reason, then it was for survival. The dark hid their sins. Atleast, that's what they thought.
In the night, seeking coverage in the high vantage point of a building, was a hooded figure. He watched and analyzed. With a cig' in one hand, and binocular in the other, he lazily seeks out his target. As he does any other night he can spare. It's just— this one is taking longer. Maybe due to him staying up all night at the club (he never admitted to being a saint). No biggie. He always gets the job done. Always.
With a puff of air, he brought the binoculars down from his eyes and checked his watch with the cigarette hanging from his lips. He sighed and closed his eyes, fantasizing plopping down on his comforter at the end of the night, or day. Depends on how long this job takes. Lord, please let it end.
Him thinking that scouting for another 15 would make a difference, but it didn't, to his dismay.
This was some bull-fucking-shit. I mean, this nigga should've been the most easiest guy to find. With his one piercing blue eye, it was like— maybe I'm slacking?
Maybe it was his approach—his position that he was wrong about. Maybe he needed to think about this differently. What did he know about his...prize that he could use against him?
