Still After Me

I've exhausted Sam's story, and so by all rights this blog should be over. This wasn't supposed to be about me, it's supposed to be about him.

But what I'm discovering is that the nights wear on a body when they're all spent alone, and days busking on the corner or doing odd jobs become strangely lonesome when you're used to sharing them with someone else. Especially when that someone else was your Someone Else.

I don't think he'd mind me coming here just to talk, since I can't talk to him anymore. He'd probably laugh at the idea of me feeling guilty and tell me he just wanted me to be happy.

As though that's possible anymore.

Nothing much has happened here since I got mugged. I've been dodging more masked bastards, but they don't know the city as well as I do, and they haven't come out in droves again yet. It's honestly almost like they're waiting for something.

If only I knew what.