Dan Faucetta

Rats

He took a final drag from his still burning cigarette before flicking it off onto the street. The smoke he exhaled came through his two nostrils and the opening on the right side of the bridge of his nose. There were more scars all over his face as if he had been sown together. He coughed a deep, mucous-filled cough. He gripped the sides of his body, right where his lung would be. There was a high possibility there was a new scar or bruise underneath his tattered denim shirt outside of the lung, or it could be the lung itself. He spat a blob of green onto the sidewalk. There were a few specks of red mixed within the emerald saliva. He grimaced at the sight as if it annoyed him, reminding him of his weakness. I wished he would have gotten help.