One More Life To Live
The morning sky was grey and cloudy, and a steady rain had been pouring down for about an hour when I got there. The uniforms had found the guy sitting up against a plastic dumpster behind a dingy little neighborhood bar on West Elm. At first they thought he was just drunk. Down in that part of Chicago, anything can turn up, and drunks are just part of the normal alley garbage. When they tried to roust him, he didn’t move. That wasn’t all that surprising since he had a bullet hole in his gut....