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They were to walk as a pair after dark for a while. I had been sitting or standing most of the day; it felt good to stretch the legs.I knew my partners appreciated the company. They were not afraid of the dark, just unsure how to deal with the city distractions. As we walked and talked I kept pointing out things to notice and be aware of, such as how shadows allow people to hide in them as well as bushes and other placed distractions.It was on this walk that we passed over the spot where I had killed the attacker. There was still a painted outline of the corpse on the sidewalk. I knew they had seen the copy of the story from the Rochester paper. It had been cut out and laminated, along with other news stories about JBG and our personal, and was in the pile in the meeting room table.I stopped for a moment and looked around. Across the highway, there was a group of three or four gathered under a street light at one of those foul weather bus stops shelters. The two with me noticed where. During the weekdays, however-- the dives were sparse, and occupied mostly with chronic alcoholics wasting away on a series of bar stools. I should know. I found myself becoming one of them. It was a wonder I was never picked up by the police. I learned a long time ago to not drive drunk, but when you live over a mile away from the downtown bars, a drunken stumble home was rife with opportunities for mischief. Perhaps it was my muscular build that helped keep me out of trouble, but it was just as likely to have been stroke after stroke of good luck that kept me out of trouble. That was until I decided to try The Haunt on a night I had never been before, and met Carrie.3.The Haunt was a themed country dive bar-- dimly lit with neon florescent and year round Christmas tree lights. It was the kind of place where you might get lucky and have some friendly fellow patron buy everybody a round-- or find yourself the target of some slurred, drunken aggression for some unintended misdeed. It.
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