The Windy City's name rang true as cold air rushed against the small woman winding her way through its streets. The street lights began to flicker on as the sun sunk lower beneath the horizon, some of the porch lights lining the street following suit. Addison pulled her jacket closer, the thin material barely holding up against the chilly evening temperatures. One hand kept her hood pulled close over her head. A couple passed by from the opposite direction, the woman laughing, hardly noticing as Addison ducked by. A couple more blocks and she'd be in the clear.
"Hey," a gruff voice suddenly barked to her left, along the walls of one of the alleyways. Addison instinctively reached for the switchblade in her pocket, nearly yanking it out and stabbing it forward as a man stepped in front of her. She backed up a step, the grizzled man eying her strangely. His breath reeked of whiskey, swaying slightly on his feet. "You got a light?"
Addison looked the man up and down. Too drunk. Not an undercover cop. She shook her head, biting out a quick "no" before weaving past him. The man continued to mumble as she strode off, but she didn't even bother to look back. It was time she got inside.
She bordered on jogging by the time she made her way back to the decrepit street she'd called home for over a week. Other than a passing car, which she let pass with her hand to her ear as though speaking into a phone, the block was empty as usual. Taking a quick few looks around, she made her way into a nearby alleyway behind one of the small factory buildings. The light of the streetlamps gave way as the alley went on, and she resorted to patting along the wall as she walked. Her fingers finally found purchase on a pipe, and she hoisted herself upward until she again found her landmark, a windowsill a few feet up.
Pushing the window inwards, she dropped inside as quietly as she could. A small lighter from her pocket allowed a couple of feet of light, enough to work her way amongst the hulking, rusting machinery around her -- ruins of the economy's downfalls. Tucked into one of the corner offices, she found her backpack and sleeping back still tucked beneath the desk.
Addison sighed. "Home sweet home."
"Hey," a gruff voice suddenly barked to her left, along the walls of one of the alleyways. Addison instinctively reached for the switchblade in her pocket, nearly yanking it out and stabbing it forward as a man stepped in front of her. She backed up a step, the grizzled man eying her strangely. His breath reeked of whiskey, swaying slightly on his feet. "You got a light?"
Addison looked the man up and down. Too drunk. Not an undercover cop. She shook her head, biting out a quick "no" before weaving past him. The man continued to mumble as she strode off, but she didn't even bother to look back. It was time she got inside.
She bordered on jogging by the time she made her way back to the decrepit street she'd called home for over a week. Other than a passing car, which she let pass with her hand to her ear as though speaking into a phone, the block was empty as usual. Taking a quick few looks around, she made her way into a nearby alleyway behind one of the small factory buildings. The light of the streetlamps gave way as the alley went on, and she resorted to patting along the wall as she walked. Her fingers finally found purchase on a pipe, and she hoisted herself upward until she again found her landmark, a windowsill a few feet up.
Pushing the window inwards, she dropped inside as quietly as she could. A small lighter from her pocket allowed a couple of feet of light, enough to work her way amongst the hulking, rusting machinery around her -- ruins of the economy's downfalls. Tucked into one of the corner offices, she found her backpack and sleeping back still tucked beneath the desk.
Addison sighed. "Home sweet home."