life//blake

1

I walked down the bustling streets of Fifth Avenue, Where crime was high and safety was low. My steel-toed combat boots in unison with the beat of my music. I adjusted the strap of my black Fjall Raven Kaken backpack and began to feel my pants pocket vibrate. I ignored it because I already knew who it was from. I did my dirt for the day, So there's no way in hell I'm running another one of his "errands." Continuing my way down the sardine packed slums I call "home", I stopped in front of a metal door decorated in graffiti. I sighed and moved a curly lock of my brown hair from my peripheral and tucked it snuggly behind my ear. Car horns blared in the distance while I stood there in utter silence and raised my fist nervously as I gaped at the Picasso door. My warm knuckles connected with the touch of the cold, hard door. Bang....Bang.