So, I used to write quite a bit back in the day, but I fell out of the habit and want to get back into it. I put a Serious up in the title in effort to curb some of the more whimsical and fun stuff. If it doesn't go over well I'll either lock this or ask Badspot to move it over to creativity.
With all that said, thanks for any involvement or critique.
The walls were stained with cigarette smoke. If you looked hard enough butts could be found underneath the dirty couch tucked in the back of an adjacent room. The apartment had the same smell as the rest of the city; a musty, washed out gutter that people called home.
The sprawl of Decadence was dying. The only people left here were those that couldn't afford to leave. Even the upper blocks, hold outs of the old wealth, had wasted with the city. Once a New Babel for all peoples, the city had splintered with the prejudices of old. Racial divides turned open gang warfare on the lower habs.
The man in front of me was a slum lord. Ten or twenty mid level hab floors had left him fat. Corrupt. Complacent. The girls from the habs hadn't mattered. A few missing bodies here and there was exactly what the enforcers turned a blind eye too with the right amount of bribery. The drugs hadn't mattered. The city was riddled with them. Vices controlled those who could afford them. The pair of upper block kids he'd whacked when they hadn't paid their tab. Those two had mattered to someone just enough to cover the dues listed on my front door.
He shouted something. His split flecked the dry-rot table between us. A thick hand, calloused and spotted, smacked the obstruction out of the way as he stood. Whatever discussion I had feigned interested was about to end in a violent fashion.
The gun or the fist?
