I knew it wouldn't help. I knew it would only amplify my pain. But I didn't care. All I had anymore was pain. I sat at the bar of a hole in the wall enjoying my third whiskey sour. Pool balls cracked, and cigarette smoke filled the air. I always hated smoking, but everything was different. I turned to the chimney next to me and bummed a smoke. I noticed the man had the same roman numeral five tattoo on his neck as the man who shot Ellie. It wasn't the same man. I figured it was a gang symbol. I wasn't sure, so I decided to ask. "What does that mean?" I asked, pointing at the tattoo. The man squinted as he leaned back and looked me up and down. I couldn't tell if he was trying to be tough or if he was just farsighted. "The fuck is it to you?" he said. "Just wondering man, it looks pretty dope," I said with an assuring nod. He leaned in close to me and spoke softly. His breath smelled like shit. "That's the sign of the Fifth Street Dogs. So be careful asking questions, unless you wanna get fucked up," he said with a grin.
