He poked his head out of the 3 bedroom shack in front of the abandoned Church to see if the wrecking crews had arrived yet. He'd miss this place, he'd been shooting up here for years.
He remembered fondly the first time he had squatted here, tense, shooting up while on the edge. Who would find him and bust him? Anyone?
No one. In fact he had seen movement in the back of the shack only once, and it was just a rat. It hadn't even scared him because the smack had already kicked in.
The church behind him was where the hookers and addicts all hung out, its sadly-debauched beauty eclipsed the nondescript dull run-down shack in front of it. People were drawn to the Church, and thus no one ever bothered him in here.
It was Monday morning, no telling how long until the cranes and bulldozers started to arrive. He'd overheard the news story on the demolition.. what was it.. yesterday? 3 days ago? He didn't remember. He just knew it was time to float back here one more time for a fix before the man took it all down in the name of so-called progress.
Yes he'd miss this place. So many blurry half formed memories. He'd have to find a new dilapidated building to shoot up in. Luckily, in this town.. that would take about an hour. 3 if he shot up first. Yea, he would definitely shoot up first. It would take the edge off the whole search process.
He shot up; the last thing he thought about before the heroin finally did him in and he took his dying breath was how beautiful the Church behind him was and how it was such a shame that it was coming to such a forgotten end.
No one missed him.
