Gene walked home from the factory, through the dust and the muck down the same old beat up roads, that he’d always walked home on. Gene’s car was in the shop. Last night was donut night, and Gene and the boys were out tearing up the town park into the wee hours. Gene had had more than his fair share of run ins with the law, but last night hadn’t been one of them, as Gene had heard from a friend that only one cop in the entire town was on duty. The rest were playing cards at Sheriff Utley’s place, until Utley had emptied enough of their wallets to call it a night.

Gene had always had a problem with authority, he was, I guess you’d say, the kind of boy who had a target on his back from the first. He just rubbed adults the wrong way, he was the kind of precocious that simply got under their skin, and stayed there to make itself at home. Gene’s first kill had been at 15, his first armed crime at 17, and his first arrest for a felony at the ripe age of 18. Gene walked on the wrong side of the tracks, and everyone knew it. Gene would probably never straighten his life out and walk any other way. Beaten by his father and unloved by his drug-addled mother, he was more than a budding sociopath, he was coming into his own, on the all time list of major fuckwads.

All of the time, racing through Gene’s mind, was his next plot, his next play for a big time score that would land him on easy street, then he could retire to the slow and easy affluent suburbs. Instead of continuing to kick around this old hick town, that he had, unfortunately, for so long called home. Home was wearing out it’s welcome though, as Gene was no longer cute whatsoever to Sheriff Utley’s fuzz. He was a firecracker that had blown, and now, according to Utley and his deputies, he had to be swept up and taken out. Taken to the human store houses called prisons that have by now become as American as apple pie and lawsuits. Gene had escaped prison by the skin of his teeth with each of his major transgressions, but Gene’s lucky stars were waning, the clock was ticking down, and Gene knew his number was up at any time.