Sirens filled the empty Boston air. This was a common noise to him, a gangster. Deeply out of breath, heavy sweat beads poured down his smooth, chocolate colored face while he sprinted toward the dark, mysterious alleyway. He could run no more, he was weak. Two twenty dollar bills in his pocket, he was satisfied. Just enough to keep him fed for at least two weeks.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.07 seconds at 9:52am on Nov 23, 2024 via server WEBX1.