Hardboiled

Hardboiled. Shortfiction. December 2016.

I probably look like hell. God knows how many days without sleep, surviving on caffeine, sugar, stimulants, and, more recently, cocaine.

Riding the subway as I weight my options, I feel like there is nowhere else to go. A woman with eyes dark as black holes stares at me and it takes me a while to realize it is a reflection of myself in one of the windows.

I massage the area around my eyes and hold my bag closer to me. Something's gotta give and I'm afraid that what's gonna give is me.