Rorschach’s Journal, 3:00 am.
Just arriving back at slum apartment. Leapt onto fire escape and climbed into the window.
James leapt off the small pillow I managed to find for him and threw himself at me.
“Gah, not right now James.” I said to no avail. Pulled my black and white patterned face off, allowed kitten to lick cheeks.
“Purrpurrpurr.”
“Ok, sorry. I know you are hungry.” I rummaged around, found can of cat food, produced open can to cat. Cat dove in head first.
It had been a long evening. A lot of running around. After leaving Shari, I hung back in the shadows to watch her. To make sure she would be ok standing at the corner waiting for her ride. It showed. She left. I wondered, at 22 why she seemed so helpless. Perhaps a sheltered suffocating life. Protesting the heavy hand of a controlling mother. Never allowed individuality. Rebelled by running with wrong crowd. It was almost like one of those bad teenager movies. Relationship turned ugly, girl afraid to leave.
Sat on floor and laid flat on back, exhausted.
Turned on small beat up radio to find news. Batteries running low. New reports series of attacks on U street, but only that people taken to hospital. Assailant unknown. Victims unwilling to identify. Said, couldn’t get a good look. For a moment I laugh. I gave them a very good look. They even knew Walter Kovacs. No, they were guilty of murder, of course they would not admit they were beaten up for it.
Purring cat curled up under chin. Warm. Soothing. Dozing off fast. Tomorrow, will find Sandra Whitaker. Tomorrow w..i…l..l………..
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