When I got to the bar, it was still dark. At some point during the day, the rain had stopped. But during the ten minutes that I spent walking to the bar, it started up again. The streets were empty.

I thought about knocking on the door, but I knew Julie would give me hell if I caught a cold while I was waiting for Ronnie to come down and answer. So I let myself in. It was easy enough. In forty years, Ronnie never took the time to get new a new lock installed.

I took care to close the door behind me. If someone did happen by and see it hanging wide open, they might want to see what was up. And I didn't need anybody interrupting me.

I tried to keep my eyes straight ahead, focused on the stairs across the room. But I couldn't help myself. I looked around. Hours ago, I walked into the bar to see the oldest friend I have. I thought that he was the only person who could help me.

I was right.

On the way up the stairs, I missed one of the steps and nearly fell. I caught myself just in time, but I was sure he heard the noise. Then again, maybe the rain drowned it out. I never asked.

When I came into the hallway, I realized how small it was. There was bathroom on one side, a closet on the other, and Ronnie's bedroom at the very end. If he isn't awake by now, I thought, there's no chance I'll wake him up opening the door. I should've known better. I've never been the lucky sort.

Either Ronnie doesn't lock his door, or he just never got bothered getting one put in. But it opened right up. Faster than I had meant to open it, really. I must have been so nervous that I didn't realize how hard I shoved it. But before I could come to terms with all that, I saw Ronnie standing at the other end of the room, aiming a shotgun at my forehead.

For what felt like the longest time, neither of us moved.

"Greg?" He lowered the gun. There was a look of surprise in his face that I didn't see very often.

"..Yeah." It was all I could manage.

"What are you doing here?" The corner of his mouth twitched. The beginnings of a smirk that he couldn't quite finish.

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the gun. After the first shot, I closed my eyes.

It was worse. The sounds of his flesh being torn away. The feeling of the gun jumping in my hand, while I tried to keep it steady. The smell of smoke that came after the round was empty.

When I thought that it was over, I opened my eyes. He was still standing. I squinted to count the shots that had actually hit him. Three. Three, right in the chest. Looking back, I did alright for a first-time murderer.

He stumbled backwards and hit the window behind him. For a second, I thought it would shatter, and he would tumble through. But he just slid down to the floor, slowly. He kept his eyes locked on mine the whole time.

Even when his head slumped to the side and he stopped breathing, his eyes were still on me. Staring at me. Like the only revenge he could get was to mock me. Insult my way of life. Try to make me feel like shit, for feeding my family.

"Why are you doing this?" I dropped the gun and walked over to him. He kept staring at me. "Who do you think you are?"

I fell to my knees. I grabbed his shoulders and started shaking him.

"I didn't do anything, you bastard! I don't deserve this!"

I threw him to the ground. But he was still staring up at me. I reached over to his bed and yanked the sheets off. I used them to cover his eyes.

I turned to walk out the door, but I couldn't get onto my feet. I started crying. But I tried not to make any noise.

I didn't cover his ears, I thought. The bastard can probably still hear me.