Janine sat on the mattress on her apartment floor, looking out the tiny window that allowed sunlight to warm one section of dark brown carpet at a time. She had done what she could on a limited budget, but it still looked like a one-room apartment with a dark brown carpet, a tiny window and a porcelain sink in the corner.
She avoided the communal bathroom across the hallway whenever possible, preferring to grab a quick shower at work when they weren’t too busy. Although, she had to admit, the Rastas next door did a decent job of making sure that everyone on the floor kept it reasonably clean. It had been a while since she’d seen a discarded needle in the bathtub. The relentless bass beat pounding day and night through the paper-thin walls was a small price to pay.
Maybe Noddy was right. Maybe they should just go, pack what little possessions they had and hike down to the coast. See where they ended up. Could it be any worse? This was no place to raise a child.
Especially with Mick back on the streets. Although he wasn’t as bad as everyone said. Was he? He couldn’t be. Could he?
She picked up the gun she had taken from Noddy. Turned it over in her hands. She looked more closely. Balanced the weapon on her stomach as she leaned back against the wall.
Was that safety on or off?
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