Junk Luck

I coughed, choked and spit up a mouthful of blood and teeth.
Sadly, the beating I’d gotten couldn’t compare to the pain I was already in.
Regardless of my broken face or tattered clothes, I picked myself up off the muddy street and started out slowly for the other side of town.
I was determined to rob someone, nothing violent mind you—just a smash and grab.  My aching bones felt like they were going to snap as I dragged myself along the uneven and unclean pavement.  I noticed a drug spot across the street and in a doorway I recognized, “the man.”  He was the one who beat and robbed me last night, so I kept my distance and my head turned low.  I had gotten down the block when a late model sedan came rushing around the corner and a shot rang out and the dealer dropped as the car sped away.  I rushed to aid him but he looked like he was dead, so I took his dope and cash and ran off into the chaos.
I checked into a fine hotel and shot smack and ordered room service—it was the most wonderful day of my life.
I was sitting on the clean, plush sofa, when I decided to enhance the moment with another small shot, so I reached for my works and cooked up a little while I watched TV.
When that warm, familiar feeling crept in I sighed and looked out the grand picture window at the declining sun. The city looked magnificent: inviting, exciting, captivating and free. But much to my dismay, the warm wave began to engulf me and being well aware of the situation’s reality knew, I’d waded out too far.
And when I took pleasure in my last thoughts, I smiled and beamed with joy for having experienced this moment, far removed from the day’s bloody start.  Blackness saturated everything around me like an ultra-heavy fog and the next morning, when my room’s door was once again opened, they found the body of a happy man.