4 - Moving

It’s hard to run with all the shit that we carry. At least it is for me. I was always the runner, he only ran to the bathroom that I saw, anyway, it’s hard for me.

It’s not like we run for miles, we just run when we’re moving from place to place, we don’t saunter or stroll, kicking rocks and shit like we might have from before, if there were police, and respect and shit, if there were people to stop other people from killing you, or fucking with you, not that I remember it that way, but there was something that kept us all in line and it wasn’t a cop on every corner. I don’t realy know what it was.

You don’t want to make a lot of noise but sometimes something moves in your pack and you sound like a wind chime being banged against a fucking door. You can’t stop, or you can but it’s not safe. Once we just started laughing. I did, then he started laughing too. He was scared, we were running, anyway, we were in this bottleneck, this kill zone, it was a long fucking alley with no exits for like a long way, no low windows, no shit, nothing, just a fucking run for like five minutes. I didn’t know that an alley like this existed anywhere on the earth, well, we found it. He was not making a noise, like a respectable noise, like the clinking of the buckle on the shoulder strap for our rifle, the clink it can make when I run, it wasn’t like that. I just imagined clown shoes, you know, like horn feet, like honk, honk, honk. Holy shit I laughed, I laughed so hard. I am glad it was ok, that we made it, that it wasn’t dangerous. It’s not always like that.