Don't Judge the Book by its Cover

She was startled by the sound of blaring horns and sirens outside her window. She reached over and peeked through the blinds to satisfy her curiosity: she couldn't tell if the sirens were ambulances or fire trucks in her half-woken state. She was surprised that, by now, she wasn't able to sleep through the sound of the sirens.

The clock read 9:47am. She forcedly swung her legs over the side of the bed and slipped on her bedroom shoes. She'd figured it was a good thing that the sirens had woken her up this early--she was tired of wasting her days away by sleeping.

From the closet, she retrieved her one-point-five rolling papers and what remained of the gram she had bought the other day. She made her way to the wooden rocking chair that she kept in a corner of the room. She picked up the bible that had been collecting dust under the chair, blew off the dust and sat it in her lap. She flipped open the front cover and read, "PRESENTED TO," printed in all caps. "Nellie L. Gardner," written in faded, blue ink. She was immediately reminded of the 3-hour conversation between her and her grandmother that lead to her owning her grandmother's 27-year-old bible. She smiled--only slightly--and began to break down the weed over the words "HOLY BIBLE" on the cover.

She creased the one-point-five at about a fifth of the way up before she filled it--the way she had seen her grandfather do it for years. She rolled it up and moistened the strip at the top edge of the paper to seal it off. When she sealed the spliff off, she held it up to observe; she could tell she was getting better, but she wasn't as good as her grandfather, yet. She blew the residue from the cover of her Bible and set it back under the chair.

She got her matches from the pants she'd worn the previous day. She struck one and blew it out--she loved the smell. She used the next one she struck to light the joint and sat down on her bed.

As soon as she sat down, the alarm went off inside her building. She, in sudden excitation, could feel the perspiration seeping from her pores. The safety strobe light right above the door caught her attention. She nervously put on her sneakers, grabbed her coat and scarf and ran out of the building. With the smoking joint in hand, she'd figured it would be best if she moved, quickly, away from the apartments, especially since she had forgotten to ask if her room was a non-smoking one.

She accidentally flung the emergency exit door open so wide that it slammed against the chipping, brick wall. Again, she was startled. She emerged from the back alley onto Polaski panting. For a moment, she stood, caught her breath, and got herself together. She looked towards the book store as she took a long drag. She decided to walk in that direction--she wanted to see if she could tell what breed the man's dog was.

June discreetly caught up to them and realized that the dog was one of those helper dogs. As she got even closer, she heard the man say, "Heel, Shad." The dog and the man stopped and the man reached down to adjust the dog's harness. June walked around them to get a better look at the dog. As she circled around, she took another drag. The blind man turned his head in her direction and his nostrils began to flare. June stood there and watched the two of them. The man finished what he was doing and stood up straight with his nostrils still flaring. Still, June stood there and waited for a look of recognition to appear on the man's face. She took another drag and inhaled too deeply. She began to cough and the blind man suddenly began making his way inside of the coffee shop. As June stood there watching them, coughing, the blind man turned his head in her direction. He stood there, seeming to stare at June through the window.

It took a few seconds for June to ask herself, "What if he's not actually blind?" Her thought gave her the chills. She looked at her joint to break their stare, took another drag, and made her way to the Pawn Shop.

His head turned as June passed by.

You be the Judge

It was going on 5:30. June laid in bed with her stomach growling; she hadn't eaten all day. Her spine was practically touching her belly button, but she didn't feel like getting up to eat. The empty refrigerator wasn't particularly encouraging, either.

"Damn," she thought aloud as she realized she would have to face the cold in order to eat. She slipped on her shoes and carefully made her way to the closet, making sure not to squish a roach on the bottom of her shoe. The mere thought of the frigid weather made her want to climb back in bed. Anyway, June grabbed her scarf and ten dollars from the modest stash she kept in the corner of her closet and made her way outside.

She hated being outside in the cold, let alone in the snow. So, she pulled the scarf tighter around her neck; the draft would be stronger between the buildings.

The back alley seemed narrower today, perhaps because it was almost completely dark. However, it wasn't long before her eyes adjusted to the lighting and she noticed the stark man coming from the opposite direction.

He wasn't particularly strange or eerie looking, but the fact that he was walking in the dark alley, seemingly aimlessly, coupled with the way his eyes wondered made her uneasy. As they approached each other, June clutched the pocket knife she kept in her pocket; she had seen too many dark-alleyway incidents in the movies. As they passed each other in silence, June held her breath. She didn't want to smell the smell that he probably possessed.

"God bless," he said when she was behind him and him behind her.

Her heart sunk to the soles of her shoes.

She emerged from the alleyway onto Polaski Ave. shaking her head. Being judgmental was one of her several vices. June pulled the knife out of her pocket and stared at it for a few seconds. She turned around. The man was making his way, slowly limping, out of the alley.

"Hey," she yelled down the alley.

The man's silhouette moved, jerkily, from side to side as he kept walking.

"Hey, are you hungry," June yelled.

The man turned around.