glow of dawn descended on Parrish Street and Dave Collins knew in that moment, the one between blue hour and brilliance, that it was the most beautiful sight he could and would ever recall seeing. For that day was the start of something uncontrollable, un- stoppable—a thread had been pulled, the tug of a string was unraveling and derailing his carefully planned life—it was only a matter of time before he was condemned by all those he once thought to trust.
And for what, what had he done to deal himself this hand?
This was the alarming thought that sounded in Dave’s mind as he walked along the silent street that morning, knowing deep in his guts that today would be the end. He braced himself as he was met with the spectac- ular blaze of fury that gleamed with hope and light...he was plagued with the terrifying notion that this might be his last sunrise.
Dave Collins was wrong.
He would live to see many more sunrises.
And every morning from this morning on, he would beg for death.