Downpour

It’d been raining for two goddamned days. Coming down like artillery fire. Dzinski kept his chin tucked against his chest. Ignored his soaked through shoes and that old familiar tingling itch. He waded across the street towards the amber lights.

He peeled his jacket off, slid into a booth and worked his shoes free.

“Wet one tonight,” the waiter said, setting down a drink and a couple of bar towels.

Dzinski sipped his whiskey. Dried his feet. Too wet to think. But if he was heading down to the station in the morning, he’d need to get his story straight.

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