I was back in the street with a hell of a lot more money than usual. On the one hand it felt good, I've been broke pretty much my whole life so it was more cash than I'd ever had myself. Unfortunately every time I saw a tag on the side of a building or noticed one of the street people hanging around I was reminded the only people who carried cash in neighborhoods like this were bangers. Nobody was gonna rob them, and while I'd lived here long enough I got along with everybody, it wasn't safe or wise to carry cash around.

I started running back to my block. Plenty of folks around here could kick my ass, but I'll be dammed if they could catch me. Cardio training for the win.

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I'd been a little too nervous when I started out though, and a good 20 minutes into it I was gassed out. Pacing is important, and I'd screwed myself into a pretty rough second half of a run. I gutted it out and forced myself to continue despite the fire in my lungs and the stitch in my side.

Eventually I made it to my building, and for the first time in a long time I deeply regretted the broken elevator as I fought leg cramps on my way to the stairs.

Real life shit just happened, I'm gonna have to continue tomorrow, I apologize for any inconvenience.