cigarette smoke spills out in a short puff,  the relaxing familiarity of it edging out the fray of anxiety picking at his nerves.  sleepless nights had left the ex-soldier wired,  irritable. seeking the solace of solidarity & silence to escape the suffocating paranoia crowding his head-space,  he'd slipped up to the rooftop of the building heâs been taking up residence in. a crummy, rundown apartment complex, they hadnât even asked for credentials.  &  heâs been living under a false name,  one alias carded under many that were sitting, unused in his mental file.  this is night three. or is four? he doesnât know. theyâve begun bleeding together, at this point.  and the only thing that numbs the itch creeping beneath his skin,  is the nicotine stick dangling between his fingers.Â
   the view of lights below, glowing brightly against the shroud dark, serves itâs distraction.  thereâs a serenity in sitting up here, and it allows him to think. rationalize. bleed out the demons gripping his conscience. Â
   â ------ i donât really want company right now, so itâd be in your best INTEREST to leave. â  he doesnât bother looking up,  remaining impassive, but thereâs an sharpness to his tone. Â
