PROLOGUE
They say you can only trust two people in the world: a child and a drunk.

The swaying figure stood before the door, stumbling in search for his key in what seemed an endless myriad of pockets. It’s odd how you always manage to discover new pockets on your clothes when your drunk at three A.M. After a thorough, all too fruitless attempt to find the holy key, Damaz Sanchez took a deep breath. The former boxer, the once inspired poet, writer, and painter, began to knock gently on the door and call out his wife’s name. Their relationship had been under strain for about a year now…and somehow…well, showing up drunk again…no, he didn’t think this was going to be good.

PRELUDE(PART 1)
What the authorities heard later, on that dark Autumn night, from the front door neighbor coincided with the victim’s report. The neighbor was a gaunt, tired old man who chain-smoked two packs a day and was convinced that The Blessed Little Baby Jesus was currently making his way to Earth on a fiery horse driven chariot.
“I saw everything, yes I did.” He exclaimed “May God and all the little angels strike me down if I didn’t. was standing right there, smoking me a cigarette”
The young police officer, tall and slowly growing in a mustache, was busily writing everything down in a yellow office pad.
“ I could hear my TV show was comin’ back from commercial, see, so as I was putting my cigarette out, I saw him come straight outta nowhere”
“Was he armed?” interrupted the cop.
“yes, sir.“ the old man nodded “Yes he was, He was carryin this big ol stick, looked like one of them police batons.”
A few minutes later, the call was put out to every officer on patrol to be on the lookout for a tall Hispanic man, between 175 to 190 pounds. Approximately 26 years of age. Considered armed and dangerous. Armed, according to the victim and the eyewitness with a blunt object.

PRELUDE/INTRO
30 minutes later, a hit and run was reported near the outskirts of old downtown. Old Downtown was that part of the city where all the old planes went to crash and burn, you catch my drift? Every major city has one. It’s that part of town which consist of the homeless, the hopelessly addicted, a few freaks and crazies and the cheapest, noisiest dive bars. The car left behind was a black 89 ford mustang GT with a primer splotch on the front side panel on the passenger side. It coincided with that in the description of the fugitive. As the sirens blared past all the scurrying citizens of this bizarre kingdom, somewhere in a comfortably worn-in cushion stool sat Damaz Sanchez. In the belly of one of the many bars, a tale of heartbreak was getting ready to be told. He looked tired but relieved. He was sipping a beer, bleeding lightly from the nose. He half halfheartedly smiled at the bartender and began to relate his strange and eventful tale.
The premise is that this guy goes to his house drunk finds his wife gone and suspect her of cheating. (prologue)

Eventually He finds out she is, He stakes them out and attacks the lover (prelude 1)

he leaves the scene and goes to a bar, where he knows the police will eventually come.(intro)
Thanks for your time. I added all those characteristics because in the actual story I want him to be a literary, a failed artist.
But I see that maybe It shouldn’t be all highlighted in one spot.
I dig the ‘stash remark. ha ha
Thanks for your time and support Gabe. Im currently entertaining a title or two but nothing concrete. I have most of the story in my head, but what I have on paper is what you read.




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