Son of a Preacher Man: Hunter, Part Three

Dreary could only describe the cold southwestern night as Jack slowly made his way up to the top of one of the many stores lining 6^th street. The emergency ladders alongside the buildings were old and rusted, their bolts loose, grinding against the roughly hewn bricks they were set into. Groaning beneath Jack’s weight, the ladders still bore him up to his destination with little trouble.

The gigantic neon sign of the bar flickered rhythmically as the letters flashed across the car-lined street below, deep shadows springing to life with every shade of brilliance that lit up the empty space in front of the packed bar. Standing on the roof, Jack could feel the heavy bass of the music reverberating through the cement as he moved to the edge of the roof, dropping his pack to the ground unceremoniously.