One Last Job

Image generated by the author with DALL-E 2.

I reach the address and scan for any red flags. I hate aborting a job once I’ve started, but I don’t take unnecessary risks. Ever. No curtains move in any of the windows with sightlines on 1311 State Street. Everyone is watching TV or fucking. That or they’re not home. Either way, I’m good to go.

I take a closer look at the house. Number 1311 is a rundown bungalow. I guess you could call it white. It’s dingy gray now. It’s two decades…