The next day they found

We all knew the extent of Walter’s issue. He drank too much on his own, never had a bottle he couldn’t empty or bother to share.

It made him weak and this was not the type of neighbourhood to show weakness in. Not back then, now they got those fancy coffee shops and apartments no one can afford, back then packs ran the street, Wolves of men looking for breakable things.

He drove a brown Toyota pickup truck everywhere, crashed it more than once. It had a dent on the left bumper, one of the fenders was almost obliterated and he had this long rusted gash on the other side where he hit a gate post and kept going. That thing was as battered as him.

He passed out in it one time, in front of my house on Jamaica avenue, I took the twenty from his wallet and hit him in the head with it...because fuck him he was an asshole too that's why. He was so drunk he never even flinched.

A week later my cousin tried to sell me Walt’s tape deck radio. I told him I didn’t want it cause he left the bracket behind and it wouldn’t work, he sold it to some guy for parts.

He didn't know this; Walter, he was always looking for the dark bus out of here, the one to the next place that runs on the hope for something better. And when he finally caught it, it was from multiple organ failure most likely caused by tainted booze. I know where he got it from too.

There was a still up in the township next to our neighbourhood selling home-brew by the litre but you had to bring your own Jug. And the guy selling it would soon as take your shoes as your cash for payment. It was cheap but it got you fucked up.

Walter parked up by the rail tracks and sat down on a nearby storm drain to watch the sunset while he drank. I guess he just blacked out, slipped away.