Max found the blazer, pants and "work shoes" at the thrift store for a total of $5 for all of it. He stood in front of the mirror. He had to go. He received the invitation and thought going might drum-up some business. He had been working steadily and business was good, but he always worried that somehow, something would go wrong.
As he rode up the elevator, there were a few other people heading to the party. They smiled awkwardly at him. He smiled and said, "I'm a real estate agent." They just smiled.
He knew from his dreams lately that something was going to happen soon. Everyone he met, every question he answered about his "real estate work" made him feel more at edge.
Then, suddenly, the lights flickered and everything went black. Black like the ink he uses everyday. Black like the darkest, meanest eyes of a biker who wanted a swastika tattooed on his arm that Max refused to do.
Max felt a brush against his shoulder, then the lights, then the scream and he walked out of the room, down the fire escape doors, out the door and leaned against the side of the building. It was beginning.
