Song of the Street Wolf

Redden the Road

The grey light of the early morning filtered through John's window. His eyes blinked open, and the ray of sunlight resting directly on one of them turned it an impossibly bright shade of blue. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. His booted feet thumped against the cold cement floor; he slept in his shoes. Always.

He was going into the heart of the city today. He would travel half the length of Main Street, and find a safe place to camp out, so he could sleep and travel the rest the next day.

John had made his base of operations in the top floor of an old apartment building, close to the slums of the city. It had been run down, but John didn't care. It was safe and it gave him a roof over his head. His room had an old single bed in one corner, a desk in another, and a small kitchenette. John didn't use the kitchen much, since the building didn't have power. However, since there wasn't any carpet, and just cement floors, John would often light a fire in the middle of the room to stay warm and cook his meals.

John donned a new flannel and pulled his heavy denim jacket over it; it was the beginning of winter, and he knew that it would be cold. He sighed, his breath lightly freezing in the air, despite the fact that he was inside.

He stirred the embers of his fire, coaxing a small flame back to life. He warmed the remaining beans from the can he had ate for dinner the previous night. After the beans had just started to roil, John moved them from the fire and drew a fork from an inside jacket pocket. Not only was it the only eating utensil he had, it served as a weapon should he run into a particularly bad situation without his machete.

The beans scalded his tongue, but they warmed him up and gave him energy for the long day ahead. They didn't taste too bad, and he could use the protein, too. He scraped the can until he had eaten every last scrap, and then opened the window to chuck his trash down into the alleyway below.

John grabbed his machete from where it lay by his bed, easily within reach of his hand, even during sleep. He raised it up to his face, narrowing his eyes as he inspected the blade. 'Sharp enough,' he thought, nodding. One last thing to do to complete his morning routine.

"Six months ATF," breathed John, looking at the makeshift calendar he had sat on the counter in the kitchen. He couldn't believe it had been so long. The days began to run together in his head, but he knew that he'd been in the city for three months. It took him a while to find a suitable place to live, but once he had finally located one, his days had been structured and disciplined.

A map of the city was stuck to the refrigerator. He had broken the city into manageable sections, and he was starting from the left side, where he now lives, and would slowly but surely work his way to the right side, to the outer city limits. John knew that he couldn't let what happened to him in the town happen here; he had to stay aware. There were too many lurkers crawling around for him to do anything less.

He checked the map once, just to be sure of his route, and then headed out the door. He got the lobby of the place, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. His morning smoke.

John burned one quickly, the exhaling of the smoke and the subsequent inhaling of another lungful calmed John. He sighed in satisfaction, flicked the burning stub to the ground, and stomped it out. John kicked it to the side, where it flew to rest in a pile of other cigarette butts.

He walked outside to find that it was a brisk morning; the sun had barely risen over the top of the buildings, so half the streets were in deep shadow. A lazy wind winded through the buildings, and it was incredibly quiet. Had it been any other circumstance, John would have pondered the beauty of the morning.

He was getting to know the city before doing any serious searching, which was why he was traveling the length of Main Street to begin with. WIth that being said, John didn't have to stop and go and stop and go. He just had to travel the length of it to get accustomed to the street.