<span style="font-style: italic">[i]It was hard to imagine that there had ever been a time when it didn't rain.</span><br/>It was like the Heavens had decided to hide itself from the sin and filth down here. Maybe for the best, there was nothing down here that angels would care to see. [/i]<br/><br/>As if to prove Kenneth's point, a jumper lay bloody and broken on the streets where Kenneth walked by. Just a few months ago, people would have gathered to watch the display like it was an animal in a cage, but now it was but an inconvenience.<br/>The stink from the corpse hung  in the air, as if beckoning for attention, for recognition for this final act.<br/><br/>But there was little interest in death; death was easy, not an accomplishment. What was hard was living. Fighting the thoughts every day had become part of the routine to most of us here in Chicago:<span style="font-style: italic">brush your teeth, convince yourself not to kill yourself today, brush your hair.</span>Kenneth chuckled to himself.<span style="font-style: italic">Laughing as I walk past the dead, what's this life doing to me.</span><br/><br/>He bought a newspaper from the local stand, skipping his normal pleasantries. He liked to stay on the good side of people like these, who saw a bit of everybody, knew a bit about everyone, but there was something about today. Like the world was a little bleaker today, like having dinner with a dame who's working up the courage to leave you. It's hard to put your finger on exactly what's wrong, but there's a bitterness in the air.<br/><br/>Kenneth made his way into his office, a small room furnished only with a table, two chairs, a liquour cabinet (almost empty), a filing cabinet and that ceiling fan he'd yet to fix. Not that there was much reason to fix it, this place was so cold that it didn't need another source of discomfort. He had gotten used to the slow, hypnotic spinning of the fan; it reminded him of watching the trees sway in the wind outside his room as a kid.<br/><br/>Kenneth produced a small hand mirror and a comb, bringing back his blonde hair, making sure his glasses weren't crooked. His blue eyes seemed to have less life in them than they used to.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Christ, I could use a vacation,"</span>he muttered, knowing well that he’d never take one. His job was never done, and every moment he dallied was another inch he lost to that man.<br/><br/>Kenneth produced his cigarette box, opening it to find this was his last one. It was a strange feeling, smoking the last one; it was like fucking for the first time. There was anticipation, and a desperation to have it be better and last longer than you knew deep down it would.<br/><br/>Kenneth was about to light it when he heard her approach his office door. The woman who would bring a bit more spice into his life, a bit more than he bargained for.