Leather and denim and blood on concrete.
He demanded more from the shiny neon gallery.
And its denizens complied in their old, familiar way.
Down, he went down so fast the ground seemed to yank him.
Rising slowly with a fresh-cut temple spattering here and there.
Shocked, then scared, then angered, then charging, then repulsed, then cuffed, then stitched, then released, then...
Man pulls the quarter-full bucket from beside his door. Dripping drops on the drying red.
It, napkins and butts get swept into the street.