Stiles & Jackson||Black Bird
It was a quiet night, mostly. He was where he wasn’t supposed to be again, in the darkened streets where guns were man’s best friend. As long as he shared his cigarettes, it didn’t matter. Sharing is caring and whatnot. He too a long drag. Cops would be patrolling soon, so he had to finish his smoke and get the hell out. Besides, he was baked like a cake. If he was caught again, they’d lock him up for sure. This would have been easier if things weren’t so fuzzy. He rubbed at his eye, and took another deep inhale. He then dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his foot. Now, to find a way back to the rut he called home.