His shift was over. His body was aching all over. He checked his pockets to find his tobacco bag. While his fingers were patting over his pockets, his eyes were studying for a sidewalk to rest his colossal mass.
His thick but nimble fingers rolled the cigarette with accustomed ease. It had been three hours since he smoked his last cigarette. The new management… They calculated everything. You couldn’t be constipated because you were only allowed to have 15 minutes for a bathroom break.
He shook his head and raised the cigarette to his lips. He lighted his cigarette with the Zippo he stole when he was just a toddler. It was his secret treasure growing up. He smiled and looked at his reflection on the chrome-plated shiny lighter. His golden fang brought a feral feeling to his smile.
He took a long breath and got up. He had a long drive home, and his car was parked five blocks away. He started trudging and picked up his phone. He was scrolling Twitter when the thunder god started to sing. He looked up. Dark clouds surrounded him. A huge raindrop hit his forehead. He shrugged and stuffed his phone in his pocket.
A sliver of light hit his face. He thought of it as a good omen. He shouldn’t spend his time on his phone. He already spent most of the day at work. It was time to do something worthwhile. He looked around and saw the ruins of a building. Even though he walked around it every day, he didn’t recognize it before. It was surrounded by new apartments. He understood the ruins. His dyed hair didn’t show his age, but his aching body did. His young coworkers looked like the apartments, but he was still standing.
The sun followed him as he reached his car. It was an old green Buick. It was old, but it wasn’t rusty. Like his Zippo, he has been keeping it shiny. He ignited the engine, and his old friend roared in laughter. “Time to go home, buddy,” he said, and touched his fang hanging from the mirror for good luck.