The Man in the City

Eyes follow him wherever he goes. Whispers among the crowds. He goes to escape. A casino is a good place. He can blend in with a crowd. The leather seat of the poker table is squeaky as he sits down. The proprietor asks if he's ever played. "Never." The lesson seems easy at first but as he goes on he realizes that people take poker way too seriously. He must get out. Money burns a hole in his pocket. The city streets are alight with the dying sun. The amount of people out at this hour never surprises him. He passes an alley with multiple bottles of spray paint on the ground, presumably empty. A truck rolls up, and the sleazy smile of the garbage collector leers at him. Their conversation is tense and heady. The collector seems to know too much. Suddenly there is a gun. Everything stops. Breathing slows. He takes a startled step backward, onto a paper cup. "Give me the money. It is required of you." The man holds the gun up high and grins. There is no escape for your pitiless soul. Don't try to get out of here alive. You won't make it. You can't leave. The garbage collector is blown away by a sudden gust of wind. He didn't realize it, but a storm has arisen. The wind blows and rain falls but... it's too warm. Loud noises rip through the air and a tornado blows the city. A women potting flowers looks up at him and says his name. "Jason." He is no more.