Sweet Satisfaction

I’m tired. I’m tired of living alone, doing what I do and having no one to come home to. Truthfully though, there’s no woman in the world that could handle what it is I truly do. Being a cop was one thing but being a killer is another. I was a cop five years ago, got training and experience then in a flash it’s was taken, and here I am, alone. I do my best to stay in control. I train every day, cardio and capoeira. I weight lift every so often but mostly I stick to calisthenics. I stick to a tight schedule to maximize my time and efforts. To keep me focused and alert, but most of all to keep thoughts like the ones I’m having now out my head, thoughts of loneliness and regret, frustration and anger, but mostly loneliness. I can’t stay in and I tired of hitting the bag. While heading out I question whether or not I should bring my glock. I opt to leave it but I bring my kerambit and straight blade, two weapons I don’t need a license for or a holster.
In five minutes I’m in my car and heading into the city. I stay outside city limits, far enough away to keep to protect my privacy but close enough to make a run or a “business meeting” with time to spare. I drive a 96 eclipse spyder, midnight blue, top down and Kem playing in the back ground. During the drive I lose track of time and my emotions fade away as the street lights and the sounds of people lost in their own little worlds seems to soothe me. I drive past kids getting into mischief, families either heading home or away for vacation, cops maintaining the order, prostitutes satisfying the cardinal desires of society, and lustful men and women heading to the clubs. I’ve never been the club type of guy, never the social type. I had friends but didn’t need to mingle with strangers to feel like I was a part of something. I kept riding until something caught my eye or rather my ear. I heard something smooth and soulful, a jazz caf?yay. I park a couple of yards away, giving me enough distance to check my surroundings for anything suspicious but close enough to make a run for it with enough object to take cover from.
A couple of minutes later I’m in the caf?ust vibing, letting the scene ease me and carry my emotions with every high and low note, with the pace of the rythms relaxing me. Then in a flash I feel this electric move through me. A feeling I was taught could keep me alive, a feeling I was taught to nurture and rely on. I scan the room the best I can, the lighting making it difficult but I saw her. This girl so pure, so innocent, a girl soul singer would serenade and cry about. A tall, thick woman, with beautiful hazel eyes, chocolate skin, small waist, thick thighs, and firm breast with long dreds hang down to her back. I question her motives, I seach the scene, looking for her back up, I look for something or someone alerted but nothing.