The day started at...

The day started at 6:47 a.m. Ollie jolted up from his makeshift bed, his sleep interrupted by the sound of police sirens ringing in his ears. He tried to stand up, forgetting he had recently upgraded his home to a tent he found behind the dumpster, and hit his head on a broken rod poking out behind his chandelier: a flashlight tied up by a string.

“They’re comin’ for me Rufus,” he jokingly slurred to his pet rat, still drunk from the liquor he downed the night before. “I’m gonna go see what’s happenin’ out there. You don’t go nowhere, and if I don’t come back, don’t forget to lock the door, okay Rufus?”

Ollie unzipped his tent and crawled out onto the cold concrete of the parking deck. The radiant glare of the sun made him hardly capable of opening his baggy eyes. After struggling to stand up, he made his way to the opposite end of the parking deck with squinted eyes, confused by the scene in front of him. He felt a form of discomfort as he saw a crowd of policemen surrounding a parking spot: spot 303.

“That’s Mr. Evans’s parking spot,” he mumbled to himself.

He limped toward the spot, still unaccommodated to his new prosthetic leg that the doorman, George, gave him, when he was halted by a line of yellow caution tape. He leaned over, trying to get a better look, but he was immediately stopped by a policeman.

“This is a police line. Back away immediately,” ordered an officer with a noticeably thick moustache.

“Excuse me mister police officer is that Mr. Evans? Is he okay? I just wanna know if he’s okay. I really like that guy.” rambled Ollie, as he suddenly noticed George out of the corner of his eye talking to another officer.

“George! It’s me! Ollie!” he yelled, running towards the doorman he adored immensely. “Is Mr. Evans okay George?”

Ollie’s question was immediately answered just from the look in George’s eyes. Suddenly he didn’t feel so drunk anymore, only hopeful that he would be wrong about the words he anticipated would come out of George’s mouth. A lump grew in his throat as George spoke.

“He’s dead, Ollie.”